


heard it all before/i play the same three chords

by finnsdead



Series: Modern and Magic AU [1]
Category: The Witcher (TV), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, First Kiss, Friends to Lovers, Geralt still hunts monsters though, M/M, Modern AU, Slow Burn, Some angst, geralt is touchstarved and bad at feelings, jaskier is a singer, theres just also cars and phones
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-02
Updated: 2020-03-03
Packaged: 2021-02-27 21:55:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 20,573
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22522852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finnsdead/pseuds/finnsdead
Summary: “Really, Witcher, I could help you get some popularity back! Get some fans, some more fame, the good name of…” Jaskier motioned for Geralt to add.“Geralt. Of Rivia.”“Oh, quite mysterious.” he remarked. “I could give the good name of Geralt of Rivia some good publicity!”“I don’t need any more publicity.” Geralt replied, slipping on his helmet. “Leave me alone.”
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Series: Modern and Magic AU [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1621318
Comments: 34
Kudos: 200





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> song title from worry by mother mother  
> its very late and im very tired and i did not beta this so any issues? thats on me babey
> 
> also! this AU is almost entirely inspired by some incredible art by daryshkart on tumblr? ill link it at the end but go give it some love, its beautiful

The good thing about the industrialism and national improvement was the sudden lack of monsters.

People started discovering better and quicker ways of doing almost everything. They built up cities of steel and advanced better and faster technology. They expanded as fast as they good, milking the sudden burst of curiosity and creativity until it ran dry. They destroyed forests and marshes, ripping the habitats of most monsters out from underneath them, leaving them to extinction. 

No one was actually complaining about this, thankfully. Monster apologists hadn’t been invented yet. 

Witchers became myth for a while, as most monsters weren’t dangerous enough anymore for them to be a real problem. Humanity enjoyed a good few hundred years with very few disruptions. However, peace doesn’t usually last long. They were long overdue for a disaster, and the few mages who had continued working knew this. Chaos can only be restrained for so long. They watched desperately for any signs of anything oddly dangerous or suddenly active. The first signs that the peace that humanity had manufactured was beginning to fracture appeared in the creatures. Small, mostly harmless creatures started appearing more frequently, which wouldn’t normally be unnerving to the mages. Nature ebbs and flows; that was the natural order of things. No, no, it wasn’t the frequency.

The terrifying part was that these creatures were  _ new _ .

Mutations had started to pick up speed again. Mages all over were frantic, trying to locate any of these creatures in old myths or bestiaries. They could find traces, similarities in the new creatures to old ones that had died out centuries ago. They all knew, somewhere deep down, what the next step was going to be.

There would be more deadly creatures; evolutions and mutations of these new creatures. 

There would be monsters. 

Nation leaders and mages alike came from everywhere to meet and discuss their options. Many suggested armies to find and kill these new creatures, before they could become worse. The mages warned this would be fruitless, as there would be more creatures after that, and more after that, and more after that. Sending armies into battle with Chaos would bring nothing but destruction. Someone in the corner of the room spoke up, breaking up the argument in front of him. No one had noticed him before.

“May I suggest,” he mused, “we bring back the Witcher Schools?”

The room fell silent and the entire council turned to stare. 

“Witchers are a myth.” a general piped up.

“They are not, good sir, a myth. They hunted monsters before, to protect humanity. When the monsters became obsolete, they too, faded. I am simply suggesting a reinstatement of the Schools to continue that mission.” the man finished. 

“And how would you know what witchers were?”

The man grinned, his head raising to look the general directly in the eye. The general watched as deep yellow eyes met his, the pupils vertical, like a cat’s. The man grinned.

“I was one.”

The council didn’t adjourn for weeks after that. The leaders debated on the suggestion, along with other possibilities. Eventually, it was ruled that the Witcher Schools would be reinstated, for the good of humanity. Most of the nation leaders had no idea what this entailed. If they had, they might’ve said no.


	2. The Meeting

Geralt nearly kicked the door in. He was tired, dirty, and annoyed, but mostly unharmed, save for a few scratches here and there. He could taste blood, though, which probably wasn’t a good thing. He wondered what the bar patrons thought of him then; a strange man who smelled like a swamp, his hood pulled up over his head, his pants muddy and ripped at the knee. 

The bar wasn’t too crowded, but it was dark and loud and a perfect place to conduct business. There was a man in the far corner dressed quite eccentrically singing karaoke to an annoyed crowd who looked as if they were going to start throwing bottles at him soon. Geralt’s eyes swept the room, keeping his head down and trying his best to keep his face out of sight.

He spotted the mousey-looking man at the bar. He watched as his hands moved from his jacket zipper to his pint glass to his phone, then back to his zipper. He was antsy, that was obvious. He finally looked up towards the door and spotted Geralt, his eyes going wide. Geralt made his way over, sitting on the empty barstool to the left of the man. 

“Is it done?” the man asked, his voice low. He reeked of fear.

“Yes.” 

“Thank you, sir. You don’t know how much this means to me. What do I owe you?” The man hurriedly grabbed for his wallet. Geralt gave him a number that sounded reasonable to someone who doesn’t know what his job entails. He took the cash, turned to the bartender, ordered a tall glass of beer. He wasn’t going anywhere in a hurry. The man thanked Geralt again, then hightailed it out of the bar. Geralt huffed, staring blankly ahead and slowly drinking his shitty beer. He liked this part of the job; the calm after the storm. The adrenaline starting to drain away and the peace in his bones starting to settle and-

“Hello,” says a light voice from his right.  _ So much for peace _ . “I, uh. I saw you walk in and from the brief glimpse of your face I saw, let me say, sir, you must be one of the most attractive men on this planet.”

Geralt says nothing, just continues staring straight ahead. He hears the body take a deep breath in.

“I retract that statement, actually. Not one of the most attractive men. You might be  _ the _ most attractive man on this planet.” 

Geralt wanted to say something, to tell the man off for interrupting his evening, to tell him to kindly fuck off, but he also admired the man’s confidence. So he stayed silent.

“What’s a gorgeous guy like you doing in a shitty bar like this?” the man asks, which earns a gruff “hey!” from the bartender.

Geralt finally graces him with an answer. “I’m here to drink alone.”

“Right, yeah, of course. Like that’s not the most depressing sentence you’ve ever said.” The man paused, leaning forward on the bar, trying to see past the hood. “I’m Jaskier, by the way.”

Geralt smirked. “I’m not interested.” He turned his head just enough to flash his yellow eyes at the man, whose eyes went wide. The man was arguably the most fashionable man Geralt had ever seen. He could’ve been a model and Geralt wouldn’t have been remotely surprised. He wore a silky blue shirt, unbuttoned almost to his navel. Over that, a loose, flowy jacket that perfectly complemented the shirt. His pants were tight and were an odd shade of teal. He wore white dress shoes and Geralt had to force his eyes away from just how  _ bright  _ the man was.

“You’re… I know who you are.” he whispered. Geralt could hear the man’s heartbeat pick up slightly. Geralt turned back to stare straight ahead, brushing a loose strand of bright white hair behind his ear.

“Big ol’ loner, white hair, scary yellow eyes, massive biceps… You’re a witcher. The White Wolf.” the man said, sounding almost breathless.

“I have a goddamn name.” Geralt mumbled, quiet enough for Jaskier to not hear. He downed the rest of his glass and threw some cash down on the counter. He shoved the rest of the money in his pocket and made his way to the door. Jaskier follows him, talking as fast as his mouth would let him.

“Wait, just wait, listen, I didn’t mean to offend you or make you mad or anything, it’s just that, well, I’m a singer, I write songs and you seem chock full of stories and I could use some more ballads, and-”

“Not happening.” Geralt said firmly. He pushed the door open, grabbing the pack he had left outside. Jaskier noticed the sword hilts sticking out and froze for a second, seemingly remembering this was a man who could kill him in an instant. He quickly shook out of it.

“Wait, Witcher, I just want a few stories. They don’t even have to be long ones! They can just be little short ones and oh wait!” Jaskier gasped. “I could help fix your reputation!”

Geralt stopped short, causing Jaskier to walk directly into his back. “What do you mean, ‘fix my reputation’?” he growled, turning to look the man dead in the eyes. Jaskier shrunk back a little, but Geralt got no scent of fear off him.

“Well,” Jaskier said, not meeting his eyes. “The whole ‘your fans found out about Blaviken and abandoned you’ situation?”

Geralt scoffed. “Fans?”

“Well, yeah. Wait, did you not know about them?”

Geralt grunted, turning back towards the street. He finally spotted what he was looking for and made a beeline for it, walking away from Jaskier as fast as possible. His motorcycle was parked in a spot that was absolutely not a real parking space. It was a completely black machine. His helmet and jacket were set on the seat, both dark and dull. Geralt swung a leg over the bike, pulling the leather jacket on over his sweatshirt. The only part of the scene that wasn’t wildly terrifying was the fact that Geralt’s bike had a  _ vanity plate _ . The plate had 5 letters: R O A C H. Jaskier stifled a laugh and got a glare in return. 

“Really, Witcher, I could help you get some popularity back! Get some fans, some more fame, the good name of…” Jaskier motioned for Geralt to add.

“Geralt. Of Rivia.”

“Oh, quite mysterious.” he remarked. “I could give the good name of Geralt of Rivia some good publicity!” 

“I don’t need any more publicity.” Geralt replied, slipping on his helmet. “Leave me alone.”

Jaskier sighed. “Okay, fine. But,” he held up a finger, stopping Geralt from interrupting. “Just in case you change your mind…” He reached into a pocket and found a spare gum wrapper and a purple sharpie. He scribbled his name and phone number and handed the wrapper to Geralt. “Have a good night, Geralt of Rivia.”

Geralt grunted and shoved the wrapper into his pocket. He revved his engine and sped away, finally heading home. 

Jaskier watched him go, his heart racing. A melody forms in his head, something vague about pining versus boundaries.  _ Ugh _ .  _ Men _ .

__

For the next week, Jaskier kept an extremely close eye on his phone. He picked up calls from every unknown number, hoping to god it was Geralt finally taking him up on his offer. The call never came, though. He checked the few still-active “White Wolf” fanpages, searching for any updates on where he had ended up. He was friends with a few of the page owners, and when pictures were leaked of Geralt outside the bar where they had met, Jaskier panicked. He didn’t want them to know about his encounter with the man.  _ That  _ was bad publicity. Geralt was blunt and rude, but he was honest and from what Jaskier could tell, tried his best to be as good as he could in his line of work. He also made triple sure not to let it slip and tell anyone Geralt’s real name. Some fans were arguably insane and absolutely would’ve doxxed him, given the chance. There was a moment within that week where Jaskier really thought he would never see the infamous witcher again, and that he’d missed his chance.

There was really no need for him to worry, though. Eight days after their first encounter, Jaskier saw Geralt again. This time, though, it was late at night in the drug store across from Jaskier’s apartment. He was shopping for a quick late-Saturday-night snack and heard the bell above the door ring. He ignored it at first, finishing up his own shopping, but whoever had come in sounded as if they were just grabbing everything they could reach off the shelves. He peered around the aisle, catching a glimpse of a familiar broad-shouldered man. His heart stopped. 

“Geralt?”

The man in question snapped his head up. His yellow eyes stared daggers at Jaskier, but there was something else behind them. Exhaustion? Pleading, maybe? Jaskier looked the man over quickly, noticing about twenty things wrong with him at once. First, he reeked of death. Jaskier could almost smell the decay rolling off him in waves. He was also filthy, his white hair suddenly brown and his clothes completely caked in mud. There was a large dark stain on the thigh of Geralt’s pants that appeared to be spreading rapidly. He had apparently forgotten to leave his swords at the door and had his pack slung over his shoulder. His arms were full of supplies: cloth bandages, neosporin, rubbing alcohol, hydrogen peroxide, medical gauze, and a sick-pack of red Gatorade. He looked exhausted. He must’ve seen the worry painted on Jaskier’s face, because he cleared his throat and took a step towards the register.

“I’m fine.” he grumbled. Jaskier shook his head.

“No, you are not!” Jaskier motioned towards Geralt. “You look like you’ve been living on the streets for eight years without water ever touching your body and you smell like you’ve been dead for a week! Also, did you get stabbed?!” Jaskier finished, his voice rising in pitch. Geralt shushed him, quickly looking around and making sure no one had heard him. 

“I’m fine,” he said, more firmly this time. “Leave me alone.” 

“Geralt, really, I don’t want to push it, but I know you drive a motorcycle and just looking at you I wouldn’t trust you to not crash and kill yourself on it. Just…” Jaskier took a breath. “Listen, why don’t you come home with me?” Geralt’s eyebrows raised. Jaskier realised how bad that sounded and started to word vomit. “No, not like that, I promise this isn’t some ploy to just get you in my bed, I respect boundaries when people give them to me, I swear, I just don’t want you passing out on the bike and causing an accident as well as your own death!”

As he finished his sentence, Geralt moved forward another step and Jaskier watched as his knees buckled and he hit the ground hard. Geralt clenched his teeth, grabbing on to a shelf by his hip. Geralt cursed under his breath and braced himself against the shelf, starting to pull himself back up. Jaskier leapt to his other side, grabbing his arm and hauling him up. 

Jaskier sighed. “I have a shitty apartment but it has a shower and hot water and I have a couch you can crash on for the night.” he said, exasperated. “I know we don’t know each other, like, at all, but I will never forgive myself if you not taking a fucking break and listening to me is the reason you die.”

Geralt closed his eyes and swayed on his feet. He blinked, trying to focus his vision in front of him. “I might take you up on that, actually.”

Jaskier let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. “Thank God, okay. Let’s get this stuff paid for.” There was no argument from Geralt, who just tried not fall over again. The stain on his thigh had reached his knee in the short time they had been standing there. Jaskier covered the supplies and led Geralt out and across the street, only taking his eyes off the man when he absolutely needed to. Why he suddenly decided to start caring about the man was lost to him. This guy could realistically kill him even now, as he was nearly bleeding out in the elevator up to Jaskier’s shitty small apartment. Jaskier started leading him into the hall and Geralt tripped over his own feet and nearly took Jaskier out. Somehow, Jaskier caught him and helped him sturdy himself as he unlocked his door. 

The door opened and Geralt blinked hard, dumbfounded. Jaskier said it was shitty, but he wasn’t expecting  _ this _ . The entrance led directly into the living room, which led directly into the kitchen. There was no dining table, only a small breakfast bar with two stools. There were two doors on the far side of the room, presumably one to the bathroom and the other to Jaskier’s room. Visually, it wasn’t a gross place, just small. Not quite  _ cozy _ , though. Jaskier’s color scheme fit the space and made it look a little better. He followed the man into his home, watching him throw Geralt’s jacket and bags onto the couch. 

“The bathroom’s that door, feel free to spend as long as you need in the shower. I can grab you some new pants, because frankly, yours are disgusting.” Jaskier said. Geralt grunted in response, moving towards the bathroom. 

“I’m not sure any of your pants would fit me. No offense.” he muttered. Jaskier scoffed. 

“I’ll try and find some big ones. Maybe they’ll fit your massive thighs.” he replied, opening the door to his bedroom. As soon as he did, a ball of fur darted out between his legs and made a beeline for the kitchen. Geralt looked at Jaskier, an eyebrow raised. He looked apologetic. “Don’t mind Mariah, she’s a little asshole.” Almost on cue, a loud meow came from the kitchen. Jaskier rolled his eyes. Geralt huffed and grabbed one of the shopping bags, turning to the bathroom. 

“Thank you for this.” Geralt said quietly, before disappearing into the bathroom. He stripped off his shirt, wincing as he peeled the dried blood and mud from his chest. The pants were more of a problem, seeing as they weren’t loose at all and the blood from the wound on his leg had almost fused the fabric to his skin. He tried to bite his tongue but a few loud curses slipped through. Once he got his pants off, he stepped into the shower and turned the water on as hot as it would go. He groaned as the water hit his skin, the heat a comforting pain in his almost-stupor. He stood under the spray for a few minutes, letting the filth rinse off and trying not to pass out. Jaskier had knocked and let himself in at some point, setting a clean pair of sweatpants and a shirt on the top of the toilet. Geralt’s hair slowly began to turn back to his normal white, the caked-in mud taking a little more effort to get out. He may have used a little bit of Jaskier’s shampoo to aid the process. He tried to finish up quickly, a pang of guilt hitting him after using so much water and disrupting Jaskier’s night so much.

Getting out of the shower was much easier than getting in. Geralt sat on the edge of the tub, cleaning his wound the best he could. The bleeding had slowed, and the shower had helped significantly. He finished wrapping up his leg and grabbed the sweats Jaskier had left him. They fit, but just barely. The shirt was absolutely not going to fit, so Geralt elected to go shirtless. He kept a towel wrapped around his shoulders, attempting to keep the small amount of modesty he had. 

He finally left the bathroom, still limping, but not nearly as badly. He grabbed a Gatorade, opened it quickly, and downed it. Jaskier looked up from the television, where he was watching some shitty mindless reality show. He blushed and moved to the edge of the couch, offering Geralt the majority of the space. He obliged, placing himself at the other end of the couch and maneuvering to put his leg up on the coffee table. Geralt finally caught a better look at the ball of fur from earlier, as she had plopped herself down on Jaskier's lap. She was mostly gray, her coat splattered with black spots, her tail almost striped. She stared up at Geralt, her yellow eyes piercing his. He reached a hand out to her. 

"Oh, be careful, she can be a bit testy." Jaskier warned. There was no need, however. The cat sniffed at Geralt's hand, and immediately headbutted it, demanding to be pet. Geralt smiled to himself, scratching behind her ears.

"What did you say her name was?" Geralt mused.

"Mariah." 

Geralt hummed.

"Mariah Hairy, actually." 

Geralt almost choked. 

__

  
An hour later, Geralt was knocked out. Jaskier had given him a blanket a while ago and it was pulled up half over his chest, restricting Jaskier's view of his ridiculous six-pack. Mariah, the little traitor, was curled up on Geralt's chest, also dead asleep. Jaskier made his way to his room, turning off the lights as he went. He glanced back at the man on his couch, his mind desperately reaching for a reason why he had let an extremely dangerous… pretty much a  _ cop _ into his house. Geralt now knew where he lived, which could prove to be very bad or very not important at all. Jaskier hoped to whatever deity was out there that it was the latter.


	3. Enter The Mage

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for how long this took !! i got a little stuck there at the beginning, whoops !  
> thank you again to sad silk trader fan club !!!

Jaskier woke to birds singing and twelve pounds of cat landing directly on his trachea. 

He shoved Mariah off his neck and sat up, coughing and holding his neck. She chirped at him and moved to replace his head on the pillow behind him.

“You know, you could just… not be the way you are, darling.” Jaskier said, turning so he could stroke her ears. She looked up at him with wide amber eyes and purred, reaching her head up to meet his hand. He smiled. It was torture to stay mad at her. Jaskier heard shuffling from the living room and it took him longer than he wanted to admit to remember the previous night. The sun had barely risen and the witcher was apparently already up and about. Jaskier ran his hands through his hair, smoothing it down as much as he could. He pulled himself out of bed and moved to the door, opening it wide. 

Geralt’s head turned at the sound and he froze. He was still in Jaskier’s sweatpants, but had put his own shirt back on and was currently halfway through pulling a boot on. He met Jaskier’s eyes, gave him a small smile, and turned back to his boot. 

“I hope I didn’t wake you,” Geralt said. “I tried to be quiet, but my leg is-” Jaskier waved him off.

“You didn’t, don’t worry about it. Mariah decided to attempt to break my neck, but she has been thwarted.” he said, his voice trailing off into a yawn. “So, where are you rushing off to at 8 AM on a weekend?” He crossed his arms and leaned on the doorframe, watching Geralt pull on his other boot.

“I have to meet someone.” 

“Oh, that’s not suspicious at _all_ . I _definitely_ believe you.”

“You don’t have to believe me, it’s none of your business.” Geralt snapped. Jaskier stared at him, his heart pounding in his chest. Geralt sighed and straightened up. “I didn’t mean to-”

“No, no, it’s fine, you’re right,” Jaskier replied, moving towards the kitchen and turning his back to the other man. “It’s really none of my business, Geralt, _especially_ when I saved you from probably dying in a crash that would've been entirely your fault and I paid for your shit and gave you my pants and let you use my shower and sleep on my couch. It’s totally none of my business. Completely.” Jaskier started making himself a cup of tea and heard Geralt sigh once again.

“I’m meeting someone to get paid for killing monsters.” Geralt replied, exasperated. Jaskier turned, smiling. “Happy?”

“Very. Can you elaborate on what monster?” Jaskier said, leaning over, his elbows on the counter. His eyes shone with interest and he shot rapid-fire questions at Geralt. “How hard was the fight? Who hired you? Was your leg the least you could’ve gotten away with? How much of a threat was the monster to the person who hired you? Have you killed one of them before? Can you describe the monster in as much detail as possible?” 

Geralt just glared at him and turned to grab his swords. Jaskier rolled his eyes and scoffed. 

“You’re seriously not going to give me _anything_?”

Geralt ignored him. 

“Well then, I guess your reputation is staying exactly where it is. I can’t help you make it better if you don’t give me anything to work with, witcher.” Jaskier said, turning back to his tea. Geralt hummed and walked towards the door. “You better not disappear, Geralt.” he continued. “I expect you to keep in occasional contact because we’re at the very least acquaintances and you have a responsibility to keep in contact. My cat adores you, too, so that’s something. She doesn’t usually like anyone.” 

Geralt hummed. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Hang on,” Jaskier said, turning and striding towards Geralt. He held his hand out. “Your phone.”

Geralt looked down at the man’s hand, then back up to his face. “What?”

Jaskier rolled his eyes. “Your phone, Geralt. Give it to me.”

“No.”

“I’m not going to steal it, Mr. Paranoid, I’m going to put my phone number in it so you can’t ignore me.”

Geralt glared at the man. He wasn’t getting out of this. Jaskier would keep hounding him and would probably run into him again (the city wasn’t _that_ big) and he didn’t really want to deal with the scene Jaskier would make. He sighed, then reluctantly reached for his phone, unlocked it, and handed it over. Jaskier grinned. He pulled up the contacts app and entered his number. When he gave the phone back, Geralt saw that he had put his name as “~jaskier~” followed by an emoji of a dandelion. Jaskier was already walking back to the kitchen, a new bounce in his step.

“See you around, witcher.” Jaskier exclaimed over his shoulder. “Oh!” He stopped and turned back to face Geralt, pointing a finger at him. “Text me that you got home safe. And please reconsider my proposal to fix your reputation. I think a good adventure story-”

“They’re not _adventures_ , that’s-”

“They’re adventures, Geralt. Your work qualifies as an adventure to any other normal human being. Anyways, a good adventure story would greatly improve the public’s idea of what you do. Just… give it a thought.” Jaskier finished, his eyes soft and almost… _pleading_. Geralt hummed and turned to leave, avoiding the man’s eyes. Usually when people looked at him like that it was because they wanted Geralt to do something for them, not because they wanted to do something for him. Geralt closed Jaskier’s door behind and let out a heavy breath. His leg ached and he was dying to get home and dress the wound properly. It wasn’t a long ride back, but he knew it was going to feel like years. He started down the hall, deciding that stairs were going to be just a little too much. God, he still had to go get paid. He dragged a tired hand down his face.

“Fuck.”

___

Geralt had been home for all of five minutes when he got a call. 

“Yeah?” he grumbled, holding the phone between his shoulder and his ear. His hands were busy with his helmet and jacket and swords and bag.

“What the fuck happened to you?” 

"Hello to you too, Yen.”

“Seriously, Geralt. Are you alive?” Yennefer asked, though there was zero concern in her voice. She seemed more annoyed than anything, and-

 _Shit_.

Geralt groaned. “ _Fuck_ , Yen, I’m sorry, it slipped my mind, I-”

“Yeah, I assumed so. Usually, if you’re going to skip brunch, you at least have the basic human decency to text me first-” 

“Not human.”

“-And the decency not to interrupt me, God, Geralt. We’ve known each other for too long for you to be doing this to me right now.”

Yennefer had been Geralt’s one… _confidant_ for a good five years. Confidant was a loose term. Geralt had something against the word “friend”, and there aren’t many words that mean “we used to date-slash-fuck-around and then you realized you were gay and now we have monthly brunch for some reason”. Geralt absolutely adored her. She had told him she was gay at the end of their relationship and he had responded surprisingly well, just nodding and telling her that he “couldn’t blame her, women are stunning”. Yen was a mage, one of the best in the area. She did odd jobs here and there, taking on people’s requests for remedies and the like. She liked getting upper class clients and charged them just enough where she got much more than her services were worth, but the rich idiots never recognized that they were being cheated out of a good amount of their money. It was a very casual Robin Hood situation (minus the giving it all to the poor). 

“Sorry, Yen.” Geralt replied, plopping down on his couch. 

“So,” she replied, apparently satisfied with Geralt’s apology. “Can I come over and have brunch now? I have stories. About terrible people and also recent escapades”

“As appealing as that sounds, Yen, absolutely not. I just got home and I’m exhausted. I’m taking a shower and then I’m going to go to bed.”

“Geralt, it’s 11 AM. Did you not sleep last night?”

“No, I slept. I just also almost died, so. Take that how you will.” Geralt said, his voice betraying his smugness. 

“Geralt, explain yourself this instant.” Yennefer sounded exasperated. “We’ve discussed this, just because you’re a witcher doesn’t mean you can be reckless and-”

“Fuck off, I know. However, I _am_ alive and I _am_ fine.”

“So what exactly did you do last night? You just got home, it’s 11 AM, you almost died.” She took a deep breath. “Geralt, I swear to whatever higher power exists if you passed out in some alley I will portal into your living room and kick your ass.” 

Geralt laughed. “I didn’t, I promise. No need to kick my ass. Now, do I have your _permission_ to please go take a shower and sleep?”

“Where’d you sleep? I doubt they let you in a hotel room with the way you always look and smell and act after a contract.”

“Yen, I need to go.”

“Have you eaten?”

“Goodbye, Yen.”

“Geralt, don’t you dare hang up on-”

Geralt pulled the phone away from his face and ended the call. Not wanting to talk about where he was last night had reminded him to text Jaskier that he had gotten home safe. He shot a quick message and got up to go shower for the second time in twenty-four hours (a rare occurrence but in this case, a welcome one). The hot water stung, and Geralt stood through the pain. By the time he finally turned the water off, it had gone cold and his leg had gone numb. He quickly wrapped it back up, but not before cleaning it a bit more thoroughly now that he had his normal potions and salves. He trudged his way to his bedroom, leaning on the walls for support. He was out the moment his head hit the pillow.

___

Geralt woke two hours later to incessant knocking on his front door.

He groaned and rolled out of bed, throwing on pants before he answered the door. He made his way through his apartment, rubbing sleep from his eyes and grumbling to himself. He wrenched the door open. 

Standing in front of him, holding a large paper bag full of what smelled suspiciously like sushi, was Yennefer. She looked stunning, as always. Her dark hair was curled, framing her face perfectly. She wore a dark tight-fitting shirt with an expensive-looking leather jacket over it, and a black choker around her neck. Her jeans had quite a few tears, and Geralt couldn't tell if they were from actual fights or if they were bought that way. She pushed her way past Geralt into the apartment and sat the bag on the dining table. 

“Yes, Yen, you can come in.” Geralt said, sarcasm dripping from his voice. “You know, I was actually sleeping.”

“I know for a fact you haven’t eaten yet today, and I got bored, so I brought lunch.” Yennefer explained, ignoring Geralt’s comment entirely. “I got your favorite sushi, too, so if you don’t eat I’ll have wasted money and my time.”

Geralt decided this was not the battle to fight right now. He relented and sat down with Yennefer, suppressing a smile. They ate in silence for a while. Yennefer broke the silence first.

“So,” she said, her eyes glinting. “You didn’t pass out in an alley.”

“No.” Geralt replied. This was not a conversation he wanted to have.

“Then where, pray tell, were you?”

“It doesn’t matter, Yen,” Geralt said, looking up and meeting her eyes. “I’m here now, and I’m fine.”

“It does matter, though, because if you just found a girl and let her take you home because she felt bad that this big, strong, very pretty man is hurt and she wants to play doctor-”

“Yen, I wouldn’t do that-”

“Don’t interrupt me. And you’ve done it before.”

“Yeah, once, years ago, and I admitted it wasn’t a good thing to do.”

Yennefer sighed. “Geralt, it blows my mind that you’re so… self-aware and respectful yet you look like _that_.” She motioned to Geralt whole body.

Geralt snorted. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Well, normally, men who look like you,” She held up a hand, as Geralt’s mouth had opened to interrupt her. “Not witchers. Humans who look like you are normally absolute assholes and have no concept of good or bad, and have no idea what ‘respect women’ means. So.” She paused, watching Geralt’s face for a second. “It’s a compliment, Geralt, for god’s sake.”

Geralt hummed. At least she had stopped asking about the night before. It wasn’t like he was embarrassed to have gotten help, or that he was embarrassed it was Jaskier who helped him, he just… didn’t want to talk about it. Yennefer wouldn’t put Jaskier in any danger (anyone who helps the witcher is okay in her book). There was something rooted deep in Geralt that wanted to keep Jaskier a secret for now. 

Soon enough, Yennefer was on her way out. She had a client to deal with and she needed to go shopping for a few things first. She kissed Geralt’s cheek and held his face in her hands, forcing him to meet her eyes. She reminded him that if he ever needed anything, she was a phone call away. She also reminded him that he needed to answer her messages because she had access to portals and could and would show up unannounced. 

As soon as Geralt closed the door, his phone buzzed with a text. 

**_good! couldn’t have that riding on my conscience too lol_ **

Geralt smiled and sent a message back.

_Thanks again for last night, I really do appreciate it_

The response came immediately.

**_of course!_ **

**_i love that you already talk more when youre texting than you do face to face its really cute_ **

**_ah shit, that didnt come out the way i wanted it to lol i promise im not a predator_ **

Geralt laughed. Jaskier was right, of course. It was easier to write out words than it was to talk. Speaking required tone and pretending to be interested and was especially hard when Geralt tried his hardest to come off serious and aloof.

_It’s fine, I don’t care. I can acknowledge my failings in being conversational_

**_self aware too! geralt i think we are going to get along well :)_ **

_Why?_

**_youre straight up just way nicer than id expect a witcher to be_ **

_I'm not nice._

**_:/ i take back the being self aware_ **

Geralt shook his head. Jaskier was one of the few people Geralt had met in his life that treated him like a _person_ , instead of treating him like a thing or, more likely, a monster. Jaskier seemed to have no problem with the fact that Geralt was a witcher. No one else would’ve approached a witcher in a bar. No one else would’ve welcomed a witcher into their home, especially not one with the track record Geralt had. As much as he didn’t want to admit it, Blaviken had put a stake through his reputation. Killing a band of dwarves and their leader didn’t exactly have people falling at his feet and praising his heroics. His contracts had decreased, and the majority of places of business refused his services these days. People crossed to the other side of the street when they saw him. He had heard too many whispers of “the Butcher of Blaviken” since then. People weren’t just unnerved by him nowadays; they were _scared_. The rumors had turned to thinly veiled hatred and Geralt was getting a bit fed up with it. He had only done what he’d done out of self defense, but you try telling that to a town that just watched you slaughter 8 people.

If Jaskier could help with that, and genuinely _wanted_ to, maybe Geralt could spare a story or two. He looked up at the ceiling and sighed. He’d tell Jaskier he’d accepted the proposal. 

But not right now. Geralt’s swords were still covered in monster blood and guts and the smell was starting to spread to the rest of the apartment. They needed to be cleaned before he started getting calls from the landlord that people were complaining of the smell of rotting flesh (it happened once and Geralt almost had the police called on him. Not a fun time). 

Jaskier’s proposal would have to wait. Maybe next time Jaskier asked he’d say yes and let the man think he’d worn down the witcher _so_ far that he just _had_ to give in and-

Damn. 

Maybe Geralt was delirious from pain or maybe there was an infection raging through his body at top speed, because he had never had a thought like that. That was allowing someone to think they had… _power_ over Geralt. He shook the thought out of his head and went to clean his blades, hoping that it would clear his mind and let him think clearly: no more thinking about Jaskier.

It didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> im aware that there is no dandelion emoji but have you considered: this is a fictional world and i do what i want  
> ALSO !!! mariah hairy is an egyptian mau ! i forgot to mention that sorry lol


	4. Two Idiots Almost Get Murdered

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yes, this is literally just my version of the devil of posada and im very sorry but i needed a real reason for jaskier to write toss a coin because i think he has too much artistic integrity to just spout some bullshit 
> 
> i do not know how to write violence im sorry also: im so sorry for how fucking LONG this got, i did not mean for this to happen but theres a lot of weird backstory here
> 
> thank u to payton: youre so much smarter than me i love your suggestions

Geralt had never regretted taking a contract. Every monster that had caused him more trouble than it was worth was eventually dead in the end, and Geralt had survived them all. The worst they did was leave him with a few new nasty scars. They were his own battle trophies, proving to himself he had seen terrible things and lived. Every contract meant something to geralt, no matter how small. 

Geralt regretted this contract.

Not on his own behalf, mind you, but on the behalf of the man he was tied to. As Geralt returned to consciousness, the events that landed him here replayed in his mind, searching for where he had gone wrong.

___

Geralt, while on his way to the only bar in the city where no one looked at him funny (and one where they didn’t mind Geralt having a sword with him), had received a text from Jaskier, asking if he had any new adventures to spill the details of. Geralt had told him that he was leaving for one in about an hour, and had almost immediately gotten a response.

**_im tagging along so i can see your work up close :) where are you? ill even come to you_ **

Geralt had responded with a “You’re not coming” and assumed the conversation would end there. His heart plummeted when he entered the bar. The voice coming from the singer in the corner was all too familiar. Geralt groaned and attempted to ignore Jaskier. The man’s voice wasn’t bad, Geralt gave him that. He could see why people liked to listen to him. 

Geralt ordered himself a drink and kept his head down, hiding his face from the patrons. He opened the contract for today and read over the information he was given. It was sent by a family out in Posada, about an hour outside the city. They had claimed that a devil was stealing their crops and supplies, and had asked Geralt not to kill it, just to drive it away, as they believed it was bad luck to kill devils on your own land. Geralt didn’t have the heart to tell them devils don’t exist, so he took the contract and agreed to their terms. The family lived in the part of Posada that was mostly unpopulated and open land, which was affectionately referred to as the Valley of Flowers ( _ Dol Blathanna  _ in Elder). It used to be home to a quarter of the world’s elves, but they had since left it abandoned. 

Geralt heard Jaskier finish his set and tell the crowd that he’d be there later that week as well. Geralt snuck a glance towards the man out of the corner of his eye. He was packing up his guitar and looked up at Geralt, meeting his gaze. Jaskier grinned and gave him a small wave. Geralt cursed under his breath. He had been trying not to let this exact thing happen. Jaskier nearly pranced over to the bar and sidled up next to him.

“Fancy seeing you here, Geralt,” Jaskier said, poking him in the arm. “What are you up to? I thought you said you had a contract?”

“I do.”

“Then what are you doing here?”

Geralt didn’t answer. He looked back down at his phone, realizing too late the contract was still open on it. Geralt quickly flipped it over, but not before Jaskier caught a glimpse of it.

“A devil? I thought those didn’t exist?” Jaskier questioned.

“They don’t.” Geralt replied, taking a swig of the drink in front of him. 

Jaskier nodded, his brows furrowing. “So… when are we leaving?”

Geralt turned to glare at the man. “I told you, you’re not coming.” he said, pushing as much malice as he could into the words, which apparently wasn’t nearly enough. Jaskier rolled his eyes. 

“You did, but you also happened to walk directly into a bar where I was playing so I’m going to pin this one on you. You could’ve gone to any other bar in this entire city, Geralt.”

Geralt said nothing. Jaskier had him there.

“So! Where are we going? If devils don’t exist, what exactly are you hunting? Is it dangerous? Do you even know what it is if not a devil? Have you ever hunted anything like it? How far is-”

Geralt turned quickly and put a finger to Jaskier’s lips. Jaskier stopped short and stared at the witcher. Geralt couldn’t quite place the gleam in his eye. He could, however, hear the sudden quickness of Jaskier’s heartbeat and breath. The quiet was short-lived, though. Almost as soon as Jaskier had closed his mouth, he opened it again, but this time to lick Geralt’s finger. He immediately pulled it away, wiping the saliva on his pant leg. 

“You’re disgusting, Jaskier.” Geralt mumbled, ignoring how his own heart had picked up for a second. 

“Says the man who routinely shows up places covered in dirt and slime and monster guts.” Jaskier snapped back. He pointed a finger at Geralt. “And clogged my shower drain with chunks of…  _ something _ . God, it smelled for three days, Geralt.”

“You let me use it and you could see what I looked like. That’s on you.” Geralt said, downing the rest of his drink. 

“Fuck off, witcher.” 

Geralt hummed. They sat in blessed silence for a minute or two, before Jaskier ruined it once again.

“Geralt, where, exactly,  _ are  _ we going?”

Geralt sighed. “ _ I _ , not you, am going to Posada. The contract came from the Valley of Flowers.”

Jaskier’s face lit up. “ _ Dol Blathanna _ ? Oh, Geralt, I am  _ absolutely  _ coming with you. I adore it there! The valley cradles the sunrises and the flowers smell sweeter than coming home after years of missing it…” He trailed off, staring wistfully into the distance. The witcher hummed in agreement, after searching for an appropriate response and failing. Geralt knew he was a writer, but he’d never heard the man wax poetic about anything before. There was no real reason to force Jaskier to stay behind, and if he did now, it’d just be cruel. 

Geralt grabbed his bag and slung it over his shoulder. He started to walk towards the door and smiled to himself as he heard Jaskier frantically running to grab his own guitar and follow Geralt outside. 

“Geralt! Hang on, just,” Jaskier called after him. “Wait up!” Geralt didn’t slow his steps, instead walking a little faster. Not enough to lose Jaskier, who was pulling his jacket on as quickly as he could, but enough where Geralt got to and out the door before the man had gotten past their seats at the bar. He had parked his motorcycle outside the bar and he leaned against it, waiting to see if Jaskier would follow. Soon enough, Jaskier was tumbling out of the building, his guitar bouncing on his back. 

“Geralt, if you could just exhibit a  _ shred  _ of decency towards me, your loyal companion, that would be lovely.” he said, adjusting the strap of his case on his shoulder. “How am I supposed to be your barker if I can’t keep up with you?”

Geralt huffed and crossed his arms across his chest. “That,  _ loyal companion _ ,” His words were dripping with sarcasm. “...sounds like a you problem.” He turned back to the bike and swung his leg over the seat. 

Jaskier hesitantly moved towards him, reaching for the bike as well. 

“Don’t touch Roach.” Geralt snapped. Jaskier froze, staring at the witcher. He blinked at him and took a deep breath.

“Geralt, darling,” Jaskier started. Geralt stopped listening. “How, pray tell, am I going to accompany you on this daring venture if you refuse to let me come with you?”

“You’re not.”

“Bullshit.”

Geralt glared at him, running through his options in his mind. It would be a hassle to let Jaskier come with, seeing as that would be another person’s wellbeing to keep track of. Ultimately, however, if Jaskier got hurt, that was his own problem. Geralt had told him no, that it was too dangerous. If he chose not to listen, that was his fault, not Geralt’s. A tiny voice in the back of Geralt’s mind assured him that Jaskier would probably be fine. Any human who didn’t reek of fear around Geralt could usually hold his own. Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a long breath. 

“Fine.” 

Jaskier grinned. “Oh, thank God. I thought I was going to have to follow you on foot. Uh, do you have a spare helmet, or…” 

Geralt rooted around in his bag, pulled out a plain black helmet, and tossed it Jaskier, who just barely caught it. He pulled it on, climbing on the bike behind Geralt and pausing for a moment. 

“So, uh. I’ve… never actually been on a motorcycle?” he said, his arms pulled into his own chest. Geralt sighed and shook his head, pulling his own helmet over his hair. He gripped the clutch, scooting forward to give Jaskier a bit more seat room.

“Just hold on to me,” Geralt replied. “Unless you want to fall off at 60 miles an hour.”

An image of bloody pavement and broken bones flashed in his mind. Jaskier shuddered at the thought. He wrapped his arms around Geralt’s middle, gripping his leather jacket with white knuckles. 

“I’m good.”

Geralt was suddenly very aware of how close they were. Jaskier’s entire chest was pressed against his back and Geralt felt his own heartbeat pick up. No one except Yennefer had been this close to him (outside of one-night stands) in years. Geralt shook off the feeling and hit the ignition. The engine roared to life and he felt Jaskier flinch behind him. Geralt quickly peeled off the side of the road and sped down the street, relishing the yelp the man behind him let out. 

What followed was exactly the reason Geralt had opted to use a motorcycle over another method of transport. Vesemir had been partial to a nice sleek sports car, and had recommended Geralt follow in his stride and go that route. Instead, Geralt had found a (much cheaper) good, sleek-ish black bike and had gotten quite attached to it. The vanity plate that read “R O A C H” had been a last minute decision for reasons Geralt disliked talking and thinking about. It was a beautiful machine. Granted, a car would have been easier to carry his swords and supplies. However, Geralt wanted to be able to put his witcher senses to good use. On his bike, Geralt was never allowed to be relaxed. It kept his senses on high alert at all times, which had saved his life multiple times. He loved to go fast. Also, he loved the feeling of the open air on his skin. The chill the wind gave bothered him less than it would a human. 

Also, he looked sick as hell. 

When they finally reached Posada, Geralt slowed to a sensible speed and they rode through the quiet town admiring the peace they were disturbing. The Valley was on the far end of town, and as they approached it, Jaskier pointed out places he had been kicked out of or had been home to any number of his sexual endeavours. Geralt attempted to tune him out, until Jaskier started talking about the town’s only bar. He had apparently sung a ballad a tad too scandalous and had bread thrown at him by nearly everyone present.

“I got pockets full of bread from it, though,” he finished. “Always a silver lining.” 

Geralt hummed. They were coming up on the edge of the valley, the neat yards and fields turning unruly and piled high with countless varieties of weeds. The soil here was strange; almost everything grew, regardless of how much you didn’t want it to. Geralt stopped at the bottom of a hill and parked, shedding his helmet, swinging off the bike, and grabbing his steel sword and scabbard in one smooth motion. He began his path up the hill, his eyes fixed on the tall weeds at the top. Jaskier removed his helmet and stared up at the witcher, who was already halfway up and was moving nearly silently. He scoffed and rolled his eyes, then frantically scrambled off the bike and started up the hill, calling after him. 

He reached the top, watching Geralt walk along the line of plants, scanning it for any sign of life or anything out of the ordinary. He was about to ask what they were looking for again when a small…  _ something  _ shot out from somewhere deep in the weeds. It grazed Geralt’s cheek leaving a small cut. Jaskier was not quite as lucky. The projectile hit him square between the eyes, and he dropped like a rock. Geralt caught a glimpse of something that did look a lot like a devil through the stalks, but swiftly followed Jaskier in unconsciousness by the same culprit: a projectile right in between the eyes. Geralt had to give the creature credit where credit was due; it did have impeccable aim.

__

Where Geralt had gone wrong, he determined, was letting Jaskier come with him on the contract. 

He and Jaskier were tied back to back, their hands individually tied between them. Geralt took a moment to look around their surroundings, taking note of his sword and Jaskier’s guitar. They were in something that resembled a cave, but the roof was caved in slightly. It was covered by strands of ivy. Despite being a literal cave, it was relatively bright and surprisingly clean. 

Geralt pulled on his restraints, attempting to wriggle out of them. He heard a sigh from behind him. Jaskier was already awake, it seemed. 

“How in the hell,” Jaskier started, annoyance dripping from his words. “Do you suppose we get out of this one, oh great witcher?”

“We don’t.” Geralt said, “We die here when they kill us.” He heard the man’s heartbeat pick up, and he could smell the panic wafting off him. It was a bitter, unpleasant scent, and it stung Geralt’s nostrils.   


“Disregarding that, who’s they, Geralt?”

Jaskier’s thought was interrupted by a tall woman striding into the cave and kneeing Geralt square in the jaw. The witcher didn’t react, just spit blood and looked up at the woman, a deep growl leaving his throat. She spit curses at them in Elder. Jaskier turned his head as far as he could, stealing a glimpse of the woman, who had since turned her back on the two of them. Her hair was tied up out of her face, exposing her slender, pointed ears. That answered  _ that  _ question, then. 

“Ah. Elves. Cool. Wonderful.” Jaskier mumbled. The woman turned to him, cocking her head. Her eyes were alight with something akin to rage. She brought her foot back and kicked Jaskier in the stomach. He saw spots, immediately coughing up bile. Another elf had appeared in the cave and was inspecting Jaskier’s guitar. He picked it up by the neck, hovering it over the floor.

“No, please,” he wheezed. “Please, not the guitar-” 

Geralt heard wood shattering and the strings snap. He heard the elf kick Jaskier in the leg this time, throwing cusses at him. The edges of his vision went red.

“Leave him  _ alone _ .” Geralt growled. “He’s just a human. He’s none of your concern.” 

The elf woman quickly turned her attention to the witcher. “He’s a human. You’re a human. Your kind destroyed us.” she spat. 

“ _Not_ _my kind_.” Geralt said, malice lacing his voice.

Her fist connected with Geralt’s cheek this time. She grabbed his chin and turned his head back towards her, repeating her punch again. Geralt blinked pain from his eyes, attempting to shake himself slightly out of his stupor. He could hear Jaskier screaming somewhere far away for the elves to stop, yelling about how they were going to kill him and if they did, he’d avenge Geralt and come back and slaughter all of them with no mercy and he’d tear them apart himself and Geralt’s pain-drunk brain couldn’t figure out why Jaskier, a man with miniscule physical prowess, would be threatening a group of extremely dangerous elves.

He heard two other people enter the cave and the elf moves away. 

“Enough,” he heard one of them say. “We agreed no one would get hurt.”

Geralt looked up at the newcomers. He recognized one as the devil he had seen back in the Valley. He had the head of a goat but the proportions of a man, plus goat-like legs. The other was a tall, slender elf man with shoulder length hair. He looked sympathetic. 

“Who’re you two?” Jaskier asked, “Here to beat the shit out of us a bit more?”

The devil spoke first. “I am Torque the Sylvan. This is Filavandrel, King of the Elves.” Filavandrel raised his hand, stopping the sylvan. 

“Not a king. Just a survivor.” he said, his voice steady and gentle. “And no, it seems  _ she’s  _ done more than enough of that.”

Geralt watched as Torque opened his pack and pulled out a variety of harvests and he finally,  _ finally  _ connected the dots. 

“You’re stealing for them.”

Torque turned to Geralt, meeting his eyes. Geralt could almost hear his silent plea for understanding. “I’m helping a dying people the best I can. They helped me, I’m returning the favor.”

Geralt nodded, looking at the ground. Jaskier let out a quiet “oh” and fell silent. Geralt knew that feeling; being among the last of your kind. There were very few witchers still around. They had shut down Kaer Morhen as a facility years ago and no more witchers were being…  _ produced _ . The people who had originally reinstated the program discovered the mortality rate of the boys who were sent away and decided that it was just a little too close to torture to be excusable for “the greater good”. Of course, this was after Geralt had already been sent out into the world. When he had found out, he had slept a little easier for a while knowing that no more boys would have to undergo the hell they had put him through. The downside was that once the current few witchers were killed, there would be no one to protect humanity. Others would say it was the lesser evil. Geralt knew there was no such thing. 

Jaskier piped up, interrupting Geralt’s thought. “So, uh. If you aren’t going to kill us, can we clear up this misunderstanding and you can let us go?”

Filavandrel glared at him. “You’ll expose us to Posada. They’ll come and try to force us out again or come try to exterminate us for good.”

Jaskier looked slightly offended, but spoke calmly. “We will do nothing of the sort. We didn’t come here to finish something that should never have been started in the first place. I’m sorry that ‘my kind’ did what they did to you, but not all of us are like that. Also, Geralt’s not even a human, so that disqualifies him entirely.”

“Is that so?” the female elf said, butting in. “Then what are you?”

“A witcher.” Geralt answered, his voice low. He met Filavandrel’s eyes. “We will say nothing to the inhabitants of Posada about your presence here.”

The elf just stared at him. “Do you swear?”

Jaskier nodded violently. 

“Witcher’s honor.” Geralt said. Filavandrel sighed.

“Fine.”

__

Their walk back to Geralt’s motorcycle took the rest of the day. Geralt was silently impressed with how far the elves had gotten them away from town, but he should’ve expected this, to be fair. Geralt walked slowly, drinking in the peace of the valley. Or, at least, as much peace as possible with Jaskier plucking away at the new guitar Filavandrel had gifted him. Jaskier hummed a catchy tune and would occasionally mumble a line or two, playing with lyrics and timing. Geralt felt bad, to be honest. Jaskier had signed up for danger, but Geralt had never intended the man to be in any  _ real  _ danger. He was, after all, only human. Fragile. Soft.

They rode back to the city in silence. It was dark when Geralt dropped Jaskier at his apartment. Jaskier gathered his things quickly, feeling how tense the witcher was. 

“Thank you for this,” he said. “For letting me come with you. Also for not letting them kill me.”

Geralt huffed. “It’s my job, Jaskier.”

“Yeah, but you could’ve just let them kill me if you wanted.” He paused. “Listen, Geralt, I’m going to fix your reputation. I promise. I can tell a crowd-pleaser when I hear it, and this song… well, I have a good feeling about it.” He smiled and punched Geralt’s shoulder lightly. “Take care of yourself, witcher. I’ll see you around.” Jaskier made his way into the building and made a mental note of how Geralt waited to leave until he was sure he got in safe. He reached his apartment and immediately went to his computer, setting up his recording station and getting to work. He sat up for hours, testing lyrics and melodies and choruses until he could barely keep his eyes open. 

He slept for three hours. He couldn’t get the song out of his head. When he woke up the next morning, he set up a camera and a microphone and recorded one take. 

It was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there'll be more stuff about toss a coin next chapter ! i promise im planning geralts reaction and yen and sjkgkhah i just wanted to get this out quickly !!!!


	5. Wasted Potential

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> content warning for excessive alcohol consumption, mentions of death of loved ones and outliving them

Jaskier had written songs in the past, but never anything quite as honest as Toss A Coin. His YouTube channel had a few hundred subscribers; nothing big, but not terrible for a solo artist. He was expecting something similar for this song. He was expecting some messages and comments from loyal supporters and maybe a few hundred more subscribers. Obviously, he hoped for more than that, as it’d be difficult to fix the reputation of a man who almost everyone had at least heard of. 

What he hadn’t expected was coming home and seeing thousands of comments and likes and new subscribers and the song at over 100,000 views. 

Jaskier cried. 

The comments were full of people saying things like “I never thought of witchers like this!” and “this is beautiful!” and “you’re so talented!”. Most of them were encouraging and full of kindness. A good few of the comments, however, were people telling him that witchers are monsters and that he’s been brainwashed into thinking they’re good. Those were the ones that got to him. He had written about Geralt’s bravery and his greatness but he had made sure to include how human Geralt was. He didn’t actually say Geralt’s name, just to keep it slightly ambiguous and so people couldn’t track him down. He did mention the ‘White Wolf’, though. He figured that people who were fans of Geralt’s would recognize it and spread it around. He wanted that nickname to overthrow ‘Butcher of Blaviken’, as fitting as Geralt claimed it was.

Early the next morning, Geralt was woken by a phone call from Yennefer. He rolled over in bed and picked it up, grumbling.

“What do you want, Yen, it’s too early for this-”

“Geralt, I need you to go on YouTube right now and look up Toss a Coin.”

Geralt paused. “... What?”

“You heard me.” She sounded equal parts annoyed and excited. “Geralt, _please_.” Yennefer always demanded, never asked. Geralt sighed. 

“Fine.” He held the phone between his shoulder and ear and reached for his computer. He pulled up the song, immediately recognizing Jaskier’s face. He pulled the phone away from his face and muted himself, pressing play on the video. He stared at the screen, transfixed. There was Jaksier, singing an extremely catchy song about _Geralt_. And his kindness. And triumph. He had embellished the fight, emphasizing that Geralt could obviously hold his own and he was still a very proficient fighter, but he also included a verse about Geralt’s heart and his humanity, which Geralt found personally offensive. He was _far_ from human. Yennefer was trying to get his attention on the phone, and he relented and unmuted himself.

“Is this about you? Geralt, did this happen?” she asked, worried. “Did this guy stalk you on a contract?”

Geralt snorted. “No, there was no stalking, Yen. It's fine.”

“Geralt of Rivia, what the hell is this about? This is _about you_ , Geralt. What the _fuck_ did you do?”

“Yen, it’s fine, I promise-”

“No, explain this, please, people are going to find out who you are and-”

“Yen!” Geralt shouted, shutting her up. He spoke slowly. “My name isn’t in it. It says nothing about where I am or where I live. It gives no more detail on me than people can find to give me a contract. It only mentions a ‘White Wolf’. I’m really not worried about it.”

“But-”

“I’m hanging up, Yen. I’ll talk to you later.” Geralt didn’t give her a chance to respond before hanging up the phone. He replayed the song and scrolled to look through the comments. To his surprise, they weren’t full of people trying to change Jaskier’s mind and remind him that witchers were killers. In fact, it was quite the opposite. People were commenting with things the song had changed for them. That it had changed their perspective of witchers. Geralt read frantically through every comment. He saw one telling Jaskier he’d been brainwashed by a pretty witcher and to get his head out of the sand and he heard himself growl. The description of the video revealed that Jaskier “was inspired by a witcher who will remain nameless” and that he wanted to change the prejudice that they were monsters when, in reality, they were the ones protecting from the monsters. They gladly did the work no one else wanted or was able to. They were _good_.

Geralt’s breath caught in his throat. Jaskier had written and posted an entire original song in less than 24 hours and had sung Geralt’s praises. And he had done so even after almost dying because of the witcher. He had gone out of his way to keep his promise, regardless of how undeserving Geralt was of that promise. His chest ached. The realization that people (excluding Yen, she didn’t count) genuinely _cared_ about him and _chose_ to be around him for reasons other than his physical appeal had caught him so wildly off guard that he felt like he had been hit by a train. 

He collapsed back into bed and stared at the ceiling.

He needed a nap.

___

It seemed Fate thought Geralt needed more casual human interaction, because after Toss A Coin, he and Jaskier started running into each other on the street _constantly_. Almost every other day, actually. They’d walk together for a bit, then part ways again. Jaskier started texting Geralt all the time, and would send him various empty threats until he actually responded like a person. 

They also started hanging out at Jaskier’s shitty apartment relatively often. Geralt would come over and they'd order in, sometimes pizza, sometimes sushi, usually cheap and shitty. They would watch guilty pleasure TV (Animal Planet or HGTV for Geralt, RuPaul’s or The Voice for Jaskier). Geralt had gotten far too accustomed to falling asleep watching shitty indulgent television, Jaskier’s head on his shoulder or in his lap and Mariah curled into his side. He’d always wake up in the middle of the night with a sore throat and a kink in his neck, but he didn’t care too much. It was comforting, someone being enough at ease around him to fall asleep. When he and Yen were together and she’d spend the night, she was always gone by the time Geralt woke. If Jaskier got up to move to his own bed, he’d wake Geralt up (a terrible, terrible idea, frankly) and tell him he was welcome to use the entire couch. More often than not, Geralt would go home if Jaskier got up. It felt invasive to stay there, regardless of the fact that Geralt had done that the first time they really met. He didn’t want to impose. 

It seemed that every single time Geralt went out to drink (at that same bar where they’d met, which up until now Geralt hadn’t realized was called Destiny), the other man would show up no more than 15 minutes later. They’d drink together, mostly because Jaskier refused to leave Geralt alone. Jaskier was pampering him at this point, conditioning him to be okay with and even _enjoy_ casual touches. Geralt, on more than one occasion and always mildly intoxicated, had caught himself leaning into Jaskier’s hand on his back. It was aggravating. 

Jaskier, however, cherished the idea that in the short time they’d known each other, he had not only managed to write an incredible catchy ballad and changed Geralt’s image, but he had also become _friends_ with the witcher. It seemed like insanity and any of Jaskier’s other friends, if they knew, would have attempted to talk him out of it. Thankfully Jaskier knew how to keep a secret. He enjoyed Geralt’s company. He liked their easy conversations. He loved knowing the real Geralt, the Geralt who cared about people and who had human emotions, regardless of how deep they were repressed. He loved their shitty television nights and he loved feeling… casual with him. The running-into-him-in-bars thing was also nice. 

Jaskier walked into the bar and scanned the crowd, searching for long white hair and broad shoulders. He spotted the man in the corner booth, but he wasn’t alone like usual. He was sitting with a woman: thin, dark-haired, stunningly beautiful. She was laughing at something Geralt had said and had her hand on his bicep. Strange. The strangest part, though, was that Geralt was smiling. Not the usual brief, barely noticeable smile, but a full-on grin. Jaskier’s heart dropped. It was jarring. 

He made his way over hesitantly, trying to meet Geralt’s eye. He didn’t want to interrupt whatever _this_ was, if this was anything. He hoped it wasn’t. He failed to catch the witcher’s attention and the woman noticed him first. Her eyes lit up. Jaskier almost tripped on his own feet. Her eyes were _purple_.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, straightening up. “You’re the ‘Toss A Coin’ guy! Hello, I’m Yennefer.” She extended her hand and Jaskier shook it. She had a firm grip and soft hands, and Jaskier caught a whiff of… what was that, lilac? And gooseberries?

"Jaskier."

"I absolutely loved your song. I actually made Geralt-" She paused, quickly shooting a look at the witcher that seemed to ask "does he know? Is this safe?". Geralt nodded, and Jaskier genuinely couldn't tell if they just knew each other well or if Yennefer was actually communicating telepathically with Geralt. Yennefer looked back at him, smiling. "I made Geralt here listen to the song, I hope you don't mind. I really love your voice, though. It's absolutely beautiful." 

Jaskier's heart fluttered and he blushed. _Geralt had heard his song_. “Thank you, that means a lot. Uh, am I… interrupting something?” 

Geralt snorted. “Nothing important.” Yennefer glared at him. The witcher slid over and motioned for Jaskier to sit. Yennefer looked down at her phone, checking the time. 

“I have to go, actually. I have a client meeting in a bit and I should get started on prep. It was very nice to meet you, Jaskier,” Yennefer said. “Keep an eye on Geralt for me.” 

“I don’t need a babysitter, Yen. Go home.” Geralt grumbled. Jaskier’s stomach twisted. Okay, so they were on nickname terms. No need to panic.

“Sometimes I think you do,” she replied, though there was no annoyance in the words. She leaned over and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll see you next week?” Geralt hummed. Yennefer slid out of the booth, grabbing her bag off the seat. She turned to leave and Jaskier watched the witcher stare at her as she left. 

_Oh, fuck_.

Jaskier felt sick to his stomach. Not only was Geralt not remotely interested in him, he was also in a relationship. It only made sense. Yennefer was beautiful and charming and a woman. Why wouldn’t they be interested in each other? It had been foolish to think that maybe, somewhere deep inside Geralt, there was a tiny bit of interest in Jaskier. He had mistaken camaraderie as anything but that. There was nothing between the two of them and there would never be. 

Geralt cleared his throat. “Yen’s a mage, one of the best in the world. We met a good five years ago.”

Of fucking course she was a mage. Who couldn’t resist an inhumanly beautiful, _extremely powerful_ woman? Jaskier couldn’t blame him, really. She was stunning. And the idea that she could probably get anything she wanted with a snap of her fingers? Irresistible. Jaskier felt a lump in his throat. He was not going to cry about this. Especially not in front of Geralt. He shoved his jealousy to the back of his mind and ordered a drink. He talked like nothing was wrong; running his mouth until Geralt told him to shut up. He sat in that booth for an hour before he felt like crying again. He politely excused himself and made up some bullshit about having to get some work done at home and how he had to feed Mariah, which wasn't _necessarily_ a lie. Geralt seemed to buy it, or if he didn’t, he pretended not to notice. 

Jaskier booked it home. He closed his front door behind him and slumped down against it, head in his hands. When he’d recognized Geralt in that bar, he had just assumed he didn’t have anyone. Not because people were scared of witchers. More because he knew that one, Geralt would most likely distance himself from romantic interests to avoid distraction, and two, witchers aged slower than humans and the idea of watching your loved ones die while you continue to live was a horrifying thought even to Jaskier, who had a normal human lifespan. He couldn’t imagine knowing that it _would_ happen. He had forgotten that mages also stayed young and beautiful forever. It made sense, a mage and a witcher. They were a power couple. 

The rationalization didn’t stop him from crying over it, though. He made his way to his own bed and curled up under the blankets, attempting to disappear. Mariah chirped at him and he lifted the sheets to allow her to curl up against him. She started purring immediately, licking the tears off his face. It was a nice sentiment, but cat tongues are not soft, so Jaskier pushed her away. He hummed an unfamiliar melody to himself, interjecting his own tune with snide comments about Yennefer. He didn't want to be mean, he was sure she was a lovely person and they probably would get along well if not for the Jaskier-wanted-Geralt-but-couldn’t-have-him problem. He didn’t wish her ill, just… inconvenienced. He rolled over on his back and stared at the ceiling, poetry floating around his head. He wasn’t going to write a song about this. That was far too desperate, and from what he gathered, both Yennefer and Geralt were good at connecting dots. If he posted it on his channel so soon after learning about them, they were sure to figure it out and drop Jaskier. No, he wasn’t going to write a song about this.

A single line stood out in his head, refusing to disappear, even with his decision to forget the song. It bounced around his mind, taking over his every thought. It flowed beautifully, and Jaskier had to look up the phrase to make sure he wasn’t thinking of a song he’d heard before. He wrote it down in his notes and stared at the words.

_I’m weak, my love, and I am wanting._

He sat back against his headboard, taking deep breaths. Mariah made a noise beside him and crawled into his lap. He scratched her ears, staring at the wall.

“I’m cursed, darling,” he said to the cat. “Cursed to fall for anyone and everyone I lay eyes on.” She stared up at him, her yellow eyes bright and shining. “Sometimes I wish I could be like you and hate every new person. But even then, I’d still love Geralt because for some reason you adore him. I guess we both have terrible taste in men.” He paused. “Look at me now, I’m talking to a cat.”

His phone buzzed next to him. He looked over and saw a text from Geralt.

**_You get home okay?_ **

Jaskier huffed. He usually texted back within a few minutes, but not tonight. He wasn’t going to give Geralt the satisfaction of forgetting about him. It was terrible, but he wanted to keep him just slightly on edge. Just unnerved enough where Geralt wondered why he wasn’t responding. He turned his phone off and tucked himself back under the blankets. He’d let Geralt stew for the night, respond at some point tomorrow, and see how he felt then. He’d probably feel just as terrible. Maybe he’d just avoid him for a week.

___

The way Geralt’s brain worked meant that with Jaskier ignoring him, he assumed the man had finally gotten sick of him and left, as most others had. The week seemed to drag on forever, and Geralt got more and more tense as the days went on. He hadn’t bumped into Jaskier once. Up until now, they had seen each other multiple times a week since their meeting. He was going out again tonight, and Yennefer had already told him she was staying home. Not that Jaskier was a replacement for her, Geralt just prefered to not drink alone at that moment. So, he shot a text to Jaskier.

**_Do you want to meet at Destiny tonight? It’s been a long week, I could use a drink_ **

As much as Geralt would deny it if anyone asked, he missed Jaskier. Sure, his incoherent rambling and need for constant attention could get on his nerves, but if he was being perfectly honest, it was slightly enjoyable. It filled uncomfortable silences that Geralt himself was unable to fill on his own. The longer Jaskier talked, the less Geralt had to. And the more alcohol Jaskier consumed, the more he talked and the less he filtered his thoughts. Tipsy Jaskier was _funny_. It took everything in Geralt to not crack up at every little thing he said. 

Geralt’s phone buzzed and he opened it.

_i guess so_

_what time ?_

The witcher heaved a sigh of relief.

**_I’m going to be there in 15, you’re welcome to show up whenever_ **

_okay, ill be there in 30_

_feel free to order me shots, its been a long week and i would love to get Fucked Up_

Geralt laughed. Jaskier texted like no one Geralt had ever known. It was different than how he spoke, but at the same time it was exactly the same. He sent over a quick “see you soon” and grabbed a jacket, checking himself in the mirror. He grabbed his keys and headed out the door. It felt odd to have not seen Jaskier in a week. It felt like years had passed.

He arrived at the bar (thankfully it wasn’t busy) and made a beeline for the back corner booth. If Jaskier wanted to get fucked up, Geralt was going to make a spot for him to do so without embarrassing himself in front of every other patron. Tucking themselves away from the view of everyone also meant Jaskier wouldn’t be vying for the attention of said patrons, and would focus on Geralt and only Geralt, which was an experience in itself. Geralt liked it better that way, if he was being honest. He ordered a round of shots and a dark ale for himself and waited. 

True to his word, Jaskier arrived fifteen minutes later. He waltzed over to the booth, throwing his jacket down on the seat and sliding in next to him. Before saying even a “hello”, he grabbed a shot glass and slammed it back. 

“Well, hello to you, too.” Geralt said, amused. “When you said you had a long week, you meant it, huh.”

Jaskier nodded, making a face as the alcohol burned his insides. “You have no idea.”

“Try me.”

The man shook his head, reaching for another shot. “Just… people. Make me mad.”

Geralt hummed. He didn’t press further. If Jaskier wasn’t talking, he didn’t want to talk about it and he wouldn’t, no matter how hard Geralt pushed him. He was usually so bouncy and full of energy and now… well, he just looked tired. He was also keeping his distance as well as he could in the small booth, which worried Geralt a little more. Jaskier was a very physical person. He liked touch and he wasn't afraid of being close to people. He wasn’t filling the silence like he usually did, either. That was the most unnerving part.

“You sure you don’t want to elaborate on that?” Geralt asked. Jaskier shook his head. Geralt sighed. “Is everything okay?”

Jaskier fully turned to look at him, a look of surprise mixed with something else Geralt couldn’t place painting his face. “You-” He stopped, taking a deep breath and looking back down at the table. “It’s that obvious?”

Geralt shrugged. “Usually I can’t get you to stop talking, but now you just won’t talk. And you’re sitting as far from me you possibly can. It’s not like you’re really _trying_ to hide it, Jas.” 

“Let me get wasted in peace, Geralt. I need this.” 

“It seems like you do. Just…” he paused. “If you need to talk, I will listen.”

Jaskier downed another shot. Geralt took that as a no and went back to nursing his own drink. He racked his brain, searching for any conversation topic that might get the man talking. He eventually came up empty, opting for sitting silently and worrying. 

As Jaskier got more drunk, the lingering scent of anger dissipated and was replaced with a vodka breath and a light air of giddiness. He eventually moved closer to Geralt, taking his usual place tucked into his side. At some point, Jaskier had absentmindedly grabbed Geralt’s hand and laced their fingers together, and Geralt had only noticed when he took his hand away to wipe off the sweat on his palm. Jaskier had quickly reached back to hold the witcher’s hand before he could pull it away. He looked up at Geralt, grinning. That look Geralt had seen on his face earlier had returned, this time minus the surprise. He couldn’t place what it meant, but he did know Jaskier may as well be the first and only person to ever look at him like that. That look on anyone else wouldn’t mean anything, even if Geralt didn’t know what that anything was. He felt his cheeks heat and looked away from the man. He blamed it on the few drinks he’d already had.

Jaskier had been rambling for a while, talking more to the air than to anyone in particular. He looked over at Geralt. 

“So,” he started. “Something I’ve been wondering. Why are you just allowed to carry around swords?”

Geralt snorted. “What do you mean?”

“I mean if anyone else who wasn’t a witcher was carrying around a sword in public then the cops would arrest them. Why are you,” he pointed a finger at Geralt. “Allowed to do it and not get in trouble?”

“I think,” Geralt said, grabbing Jaskier’s finger and moving it away from his face. “I think it’s like how police are allowed to have weapons? Other policemen don’t get arrested for having a weapon on them. I don’t bother them or cause trouble, they don’t bother me.”

Jaskier stared down at the table for a moment. “So you’re the monster cops.”

“I did not say that.”

“But you just did though, you’re a cop for monsters.”

“I am not, Jas-”

“Is that why people never loved witchers before me? Because there’s the whole ACAB thing with humans and all that and humans don’t trust cops?”

“No, I think that it’s more like humans don’t trust nonhumans because we’re different.” 

Jaskier narrowed his eyes, searching for something in Geralt’s eyes. “I guess you’re right.”

“Thank you, I know.”

Jaskier pulled his phone out and opened his Contacts app, scrolling through to find something. Geralt peered over his shoulder and saw he was on Geralt’s page, editing the name. He watched as Jaskier changed his contact name to a misspelling of “monster cop”. Geralt sighed and rolled his eyes. 

They sat and talked for an hour or two, long after Jaskier had been cut off and they had paid their bill (though he had been stealing sips of Geralt’s unfinished beer all night). Geralt yawned and finally realized the time. He nudged Jaskier, who had taken to playing round after round of Candy Crush, somehow winning more often than failing. 

“We should go, Jas.” he said quietly. Jaskier nodded, pulling himself out of the booth and almost eating shit as soon as he stood. Geralt caught his arm, hauling him up and looping his own arm around the man’s waist. 

Jaskier lived close enough that he had walked there, which happened to work out well. This way, Geralt could make sure that he got home and in bed safely, and that he wouldn’t be a danger to himself. By the time they reached his apartment building, Jaskier’s legs had almost entirely stopped working and Geralt was pretty much carrying him up to his apartment. They stopped in front of his door and he leaned Jaskier against the wall. 

“Keys, Jaskier.” he said, holding out his hand. The man dug around in his pockets, humming a tune to himself. A door down the hall opened and a woman peeked out, making eye contact with Geralt. She looked from him to Jaskier and back, her eyebrows raised in concern. 

“Are you… is he okay?” she asked. 

Geralt nodded. “He drank too much. He’ll be fine.”

The woman didn’t look any less concerned. ‘You’re not… gonna take advantage of him, are you?”

Geralt blinked in surprise. “What?”

“You know what I mean.”

“No, I’m not going to _take advantage of him_ . He’s…” He sighed. “We’re just _friends_. I’m making sure he gets in okay and that he’s not going to accidentally kill himself.” Geralt said as Jaskier finally placed his keys in the witcher’s hand. 

The woman nodded, apparently satisfied. “Sorry for assuming. Have a good night!” she said, closing her door. 

Geralt unlocked the front door and helped Jaskier inside, ignoring the lights and heading straight for the bedroom. He dropped the man unceremoniously on the bed and turned on a lamp in the corner. Jaskier kicked off his shoes and socks and crawled under the blankets, and was now staring at the ceiling. Geralt rolled his eyes.

“Take your clothes off. Go to bed.” he demanded, turning towards the door. 

Jaskier giggled, _actually giggled_ , and sat up. “Wow, Geralt, this is very forward of you, but sure, I guess.” He pulled at the bottom of his shirt, starting to bring it up and over his head but very quickly getting stuck. He struggled for a minute before he went still and huffed. “Geralt, help me please.” 

Geralt pinched the bridge of his nose, but reluctantly turned to pull the shirt off. “I’m never letting you get this wasted with me ever again.” Jaskier frowned. Geralt pushed his shoulder and he fell back onto the bed. He walked back towards the door and paused there, turning to look at the man again. “Go to _bed_.”

“Stay.”

Geralt froze “What?”

“Stay with me.” Jaskier made grabby hands at Geralt.

“I have to go home, Jas, I can’t-” he stopped, as tears had started to well up in Jaskier’s eyes. Gods, he was an emotional drunk. Geralt sighed. If he left, Jaskier would most definitely cry and fall asleep upset, which was not ideal. He hated seeing the man upset, regardless of the cause. The cause being Geralt himself was worse, though. On the other hand, if he stayed, Jaskier was going to be all over him. He’d fall asleep happy, but he would also fall asleep holding Geralt’s hand, which was a mildly uncomfortable situation. It was better than him crying himself to sleep. 

Geralt let out a long breath and walked around to the other side of the bed. He’d stay until the man fell asleep. A win-win choice. He kicked his shoes off and removed his jacket, pulling back the blankets and lying down next to Jaskier. The man turned over and faced the witcher, shuffling closer and curling up into him. He balled his fists in Geralt’s shirt, pulling him impossibly closer and burying his face in the crook of his neck. 

Really, what could Geralt do at this point?

He breathed in, drowning in the familiar scent of lavender and wood polish. He wrapped his arms around Jaskier, absentmindedly tracing circles into his skin. The other man tangled their legs together, desperately clinging to as much physical contact as he possibly could. Jaskier’s breathing evened out and Geralt’s followed suit. Jaskier mumbled something that sounded a lot like “love you” into his skin and he felt his muscles relax. 

With any other person, in any other situation, Geralt would be on high alert.

He wasn’t used to being touched so casually. Even Yennefer only touched him when she really wanted to or when she knew they were completely safe. She knew he kept people away for a reason. As stoic and aloof as Geralt projected himself, closeness made him nervous; it tore down his walls in seconds and he knew it. It was unsafe for someone of his profession to have such a strong weakness. So he avoided it. End of story.

The problem now was that Jaskier had forced himself so deep into Geralt’s subconscious that the witcher had discovered that a simple reassuring hand on his arm or a head on his shoulder made all the stress and anger in his bones melt away almost instantly. Geralt decided right there and then as he drifted off to sleep that he would never allow Jaskier to leave his life. 

Ever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i hope you all appreciate how clever this chapter title is, i spent 2 days thinking it up  
> (i have never been to a bar i dont know how they work i apologize)  
> sorry for the sudden angst oops we needed some conflict !  
> i think there'll be a few more chapters in this, but either the next chap or the one after that will probably be the tension break!! im not gonna make yall wait a super long time because i am impatient (and id like to finish this before my spring break because ngl i will be playing witcher 3 for a week straight lol !)


	6. A Mistake and a Joining

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> cw for canon-typical violence  
> yall...... the research i did for this chapter...... ridiculous..... i died SO many times playing the game for ideas ugh  
> sorry this is late !!! big thanks to my lovely roommate for helping me through my writers block i love you darling

Geralt woke up alone.

Which, thinking back, he found incredibly impressive, seeing as when he fell asleep the two of them had been so tangled up that he almost couldn’t tell where he started and Jaskier ended. He also had heightened senses and should have noticed when a fairly clumsy human moved anywhere near him. Geralt gave the man credit where credit was due. 

He sat up in the bed and ran a hand through his hair, combing out tangles and tying it up out of his face. Mariah was asleep on the bed beside him, purring contently. He scratched behind her ears. He moved to crack his neck and immediately noticed something felt off. Not wrong, per say, just… off. He stood slowly, turning around the room while stretching and-

Oh.

He wasn’t sore.

90% of his mornings consisted of stretching and cracking his joints and suffering through the near-constant ache in his muscles that came with his job. He had never in his life felt so relaxed and well-rested outside of Kaer Morhen. He very rarely slept through the night, usually waking up every 4 hours just to check everything was right (one of the instincts left over from travelling the roads for so long without a place to really call home). He hadn’t woken once. And he had slept in  _ jeans _ . He hummed, taking a mental note to ask Jaskier what kind of mattress he used. As shitty as it looked, it apparently did its job well. He made his way to the main room, grabbing his shoes on the way out of the bedroom.

Jaskier was standing in the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hands and a bowl of cereal on the counter in front of him. He glanced up at Geralt, meeting his eyes. He winced at the movement, squeezing his eyes shut. He looked terrible. The bags under his eyes were dark and his eyes were half-lidded. His bright blue eyes were dull, staring at him through eyelashes and the haze of a bad hangover. He gave Geralt a half smile and motioned to the coffee. 

“Want any?”

Geralt shook his head. “I’m okay,” he said, keeping his voice gentle. “You look like you need all the coffee you have for yourself. No offense.” he added.

Jaskier huffed a quiet laugh. “None taken.”

“How are you feeling?” Geralt asked, taking a few steps closer to the man.

“Shitty, Geralt. Really shitty. God, I feel like my head is going to explode.” He set the mug down on the counter, leaning over and resting his elbows on the surface. He closed his eyes and pressed his hands to his temples. “How much did I drink last night?”

Geralt mirrored his stance, leaning his elbows on the counter. “How much do you remember?”

Jaskier sighed. “It’s fuzzy, but the last thing I can remember that I’m sure was real was me asking you if you’re a monster cop.”

“And I said no.”

“And I changed your contact name anyways. Past that, though, I have no recollection of anything until I woke up this morning.” Jaskier paused, taking a sip of his coffee. “Uh… What was up with this morning?” His cheeks were dusted a light pink and he wouldn’t meet Geralt’s eyes.

“That was all you, I’m afraid,” Geralt said, feeling his heart speed up just slightly. “I made sure you got home and in bed safe, and you asked me to stay and wouldn’t let go of me. If waking up like that made you uncomfortable, I-”

“No, no, of course not, I just wanted to-”   


“-can assure you that nothing  _ happened _ .” he finished. Jaskier still wouldn’t look up. 

“I’m… I’m sorry. For being a hassle last night, for making you stay and babysit me, for-” 

Geralt cut him off with a finger to his lips. He gently held Jaskier’s chin and lifted it, looking him in the eyes. Jaskier’s eyes were wide and the flush on his cheeks had moved to his ears as well. Geralt caught a whiff of something in the air, wafting off the man. It was muddled by his coffee breath and Geralt couldn’t place it, but he hoped it hadn’t been fear.

“I stayed of my own accord, Jas. There is no way you could have  _ made  _ me do anything. I’m not upset, I promise. Witcher’s honor.  _ This isn’t your fault _ .” 

If Geralt signed just a  _ little  _ bit of Axii for that last sentence… well, what Jaskier didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him. 

The man visibly relaxed. The tension melted out of his shoulders and he let out a long breath. Geralt watched Jaskier’s face, searching for any remnants of guilt. Not finding anything, he let go of his chin, satisfied. Their gazes stayed locked, Jaskier’s eyes almost hypnotizing Geralt. The witcher reached out on impulse and brushed a stray piece of hair behind the man’s ear. Jaskier allowed him to, a look of a sort of admiration dashing across his face and disappearing. He quickly jerked back, standing fully and turning his back to Geralt. A pang of guilt ran through Geralt. He’d crossed a line. He stood, taking a few steps back and clearing his throat. 

“I should, uh… I should probably go.” he said, making his way towards the door. “I’ll text you later?” Jaskier offered no response, just a quiet hum of acknowledgement. Geralt took it as a “maybe”, grabbed his things, and left, not bothering to say goodbye. He knew when he was unwanted. It wasn’t even that he was  _ unwanted _ , though, it was more that he knew that he was the reason Jaskier was feeling the way he was and it tore a hole through his heart. As he rode home, his mind strayed back to the night before and the sheer amount of times Jaskier had touched him, replaying his plea for Geralt to stay over and over and over again. Geralt’s skin felt like fire. He felt sick.

When he returned home, he called Yennefer. He felt nauseous and ill and feverish and he was mildly concerned, as witchers famously were extremely resistant to illness and disease and it was near impossible for them to get sick. The mage didn’t pick up, but responded with a text telling him that she was busy and to call back in an hour. Geralt cursed. He elected to take a cold shower, hoping that would help the feverish feeling, at the very least. 

It did, but he still felt wrong. At least he knew he wasn’t actually sick.

___

Three days later, Geralt decided that going drinking with Jaskier had been an ultimately terrible decision. His reasoning for this was that if he hadn’t invited Jaskier to Destiny, he wouldn’t have had to babysit the man and be dragged into his bed and end up sleeping in his bed. Geralt woke every morning from a restless sleep, sore and complaining, remembering how well he slept at Jaskier’s. He needed to get his mind off of that night, and he only knew one way to do so.

So, he started looking for a new contract.

He stumbled across a rather desperate plea, promising a significant amount for killing a creature that lurked in the woods. Hunters in the area kept disappearing, and their corpses turn up days later extremely dead and barely recognizable, with torn flesh and wounds on their torsos that appeared to be made by massive, razor sharp claws. The contract came from the small village by the woods that could only be described as crunchy. The writer had mentioned a terrible spirit the village honored (because what else could they do but avoid its wrath), with long arms and a body made of miscellaneous parts you’d find in the dense forest. It included a rough artist's interpretation of the spirit, which Geralt would have recognized anywhere. They were particularly hostile beings, and he was surprised the village had only now asked for help. The deer skull head and massive antlers would send anyone running; even some witchers refused to take on a leshen for fear of their own lives. Geralt was not one of those witchers. He sent a reply to the writer, letting them know he was willing to solve their problem. He quickly packed his things, grabbing potions and heading out the door. 

His drive to the village wasn’t particularly eventful. It was a rather peaceful ride, the sweet open air a welcome distraction from his still-aching back. His witcher healing hadn’t caught up with his lack of sleep yet, so the sore muscles had stayed. The locals pointed Geralt in the right direction, and he headed deeper into the forest.

The dense trees had very quickly rendered Roach useless, forcing Geralt to continue on foot. The canopy of leaves blocked most sunlight, and the cold wind sent a shiver down his spine. He heard a distant howl and drew his sword. The leshen knew he was here. He downed a few potions, cringing at the taste and feeling his body react. He continued silently into the woods, keeping alert to every twig snap and every rustle of leaves around him. He moved through the underbrush and finally caught sight of the monster at the edge of a clearing.

He’d been right. The leshen towered over him, standing at least twelve feet tall, not including its antlers. He hadn’t seen one in years, the destruction of forests by humans causing their slow extinction, but they remained as unnerving as always. The monster turned slowly, its empty eyes finding Geralt easily. It began moving towards him and he cursed, moving out of the brush and into the clearing. 

He heard a snarl from behind him and turned, slicing his sword through the air as he did. He caught the wolf in the neck, the silver cutting easily through its thick fur and leaving it still and bleeding. He swung around, watching the leshen’s slow movements. It watched him right back, its dark, empty eyes piercing his. He flipped his sword and met its gaze, egging it on.

The fight went on too long for Geralt’s taste. He knew he was wearing down the leshen, its attacks also coming slower and more random, breaking its system. However, his potions only lasted so long, and his reflexes had started to slow the smallest amount. The problem with that was that his mind had started acting faster than his body.

He saw the attack coming, but dodged too late. The monster caught him across the chest, its claws carving through his chest and tossing him to the side. He hit the ground hard, a rib cracked from the impact and his breath knocked out of his lungs. He wheezed, forcing air back in his lungs, coughing and spitting blood on the grass. He pushed himself up onto his feet, wiping the blood from his mouth and turning to the leshen, eyes blazing. The leshen brought its arms to the ground, a surge of power flowing through the ground and twin roots shot up on either side of Geralt. He slashed at one, cutting it in half, but the other caught him with a spike. It dragged down his arm, ripping easily through his armor and into his flesh.

He yelled, signing Igni in the air with his good arm and directing the fiery blast at the monster’s torso. It stumbled, the fire quickly spreading down its wooden arms. Geralt dashed at it, slamming into its legs and sending it to the forest floor. As it fell, he stood over its flaming body and stabbed his sword into the moss around its neck, dragging the silver through the creature and stumbling sideways from the force. It reached a claw toward him, trying to grasp his leg and knock him off balance. He easily kicked it aside and knelt a safe distance away, catching his breath, his adrenaline starting to decrease. Roots shot up around the leshen, caging it in as it died.

Geralt made his way over and stood above the creature, panting, blood dripping down his arm. He could feel the potions quickly wearing off and he wavered on his feet, his vision going blurry. His knee buckled and he fell, dropping his sword and landing on all fours. He watched as the red dripped from the deep gashes across his chest and stained the grass below, bleeding into the earth, into the roots of the trees, up into the wood, and through to the leaves, turning them the same deep, dark red that lurked at the edges of his vision. Geralt closed his eyes and breathed, deep as he could, grimacing through the pain in his chest. He willed his heartbeat to slow, trying to limit the blood loss. He opened his eyes again and found that the ground, even a few feet away, remained blurry. His vision faded, and he fell forward on his elbows. He stared at the grass now inches from his nose and felt his eyes roll back and he saw nothing. He felt his body twitch and collapse, his limbs finally failing him, and then nothing.

Just darkness.

Geralt jerked awake some time later. He didn’t know how much longer, just that the moon was out and he was in a pool of his own blood. His arm ached and he felt like he’d been hit and run completely over by a train. The ground was sticky and he was sure all his clothes would be stained red (or brown, depending on how long it had been). He pushed himself onto his back, breathing heavily. He collected all the energy that he had and reached his good arm out, fumbling for his bag. He thanked any and every god when his fingers finally brushed it. He opened the pocket and found what he was looking for: his phone. He mumbled a “thank you” to the cold night air and hit the emergency call button, ignoring the emergency services and instead opting for Yennefer’s contact, hitting ‘call’ and putting the phone on speaker. After a few rings she picked up.

“Geralt?! Oh my god, Geralt is that you?” She sounded desperate.  _ Shit, how long had it been? _

“Yeah,” he choked out, his voice sounding foreign in his own ears. He tried to clear his throat, but just coughed and his vision went white, pain shooting through his chest, the crusted-over wounds ripping open. Tears pricked in the corner of his eyes and he let out a silent scream. He stared up at the stars, wheezing. “Oh, fuck.” he said, his voice cracking.

“Geralt, holy shit. Are you-”

“If you’re about to ask me if I’m okay,” he said quietly, blinking away the tears. “I think you know the answer.”

“God, okay. I’m- I’m portalling to you, just, Geralt,” she said, and Geralt could hear her holding back tears. “Please stay alive.”

“I’m trying.” he mumbled. He heard Yennefer hang up and he dropped the phone, looking back up at the leaves above him. Darkness creeped in at the edge of his vision again and he let it come, evening his breath as best he could. He heard a distant whoosh, the opening and closing of a portal. He heard Yennefer running to him. He heard her strangled cry and he felt her hands on his face. He felt her reach under his arms and drag him towards something. He heard her open another portal and plead with him to just stay conscious, goddamn it. He felt his body enter the portal, then nothing. Everything was still. Quiet. Dark. 

___

Jaskier was mildly irritated. Geralt had texted him that morning, telling him he was heading out on a contract and wouldn’t be around for a while. That was fine, there was nothing wrong with the witcher doing his job. However, there was something wrong with said witcher not texting him back over fifteen hours later. No contract he had been on since Jaskier knew him had taken more than ten, even including collecting a reward and getting home. And yes, he was also concerned, he wasn’t heartless. He sent Geralt another “where are you” text and laid back on the bed.

His phone buzzed next to him and his heart leapt. He opened his phone, but there was no response from Gerallt. There was a text from an unsaved number, though. He assumed it was spam or a wrong number, but opened it anyways. When he did, his heart sank.

**_Is this jaskier?_ **

He sighed. He’d play along, just this once.

_ yes it is _

_ who is this? _

**_Yennefer, from the bar that one time_ **

**_You and geralt are close, right? Like you care about him_ **

Jaskier scoffed. 

_ yes? what kind of question is that lol why do you ask _

**_Okay heres the situation: our favorite stupid fucking idiot almost got himself fucking killed_ **

Jaskier’s breath hitched in his throat.

_ what the fuck. _

_ is he okay? do you know where he is? do you need me to do anything? _

**_Hes with me_ **

**_Hes alive, and stable. He took a pretty big hit on that contract but hes going to be okay eventually_ **

**_I just wanted to let you know in case you were worried, youre the closest friend he has besides me and i wanted you to be on the same page_ **

**_Do you want me to call you? Would it be easier to talk that way_ **

Jaskier didn’t grace her with an answer, just dialed the number and called. She picked up almost instantly.

“Jaskier?”

“Yeah. Yennefer?”

“Yes. So here’s the situation. I portalled us to his apartment, and for now he’s stable. Hopefully, he will be more than stable soon, but I can’t give him too many potions or it’ll start doing more harm than good. I’m helping the healing as much as I can with magic, too. I just… I wanted someone else to know, and our lovely friend doesn’t have that many people he actually knows.” Yennefer said. 

“How bad is it?” Jaskier asked, not really wanting to know.

“Well, it’s not for the faint of heart, that’s for certain. The leshen got him pretty good in the chest and he lost a lot of blood. I’m just glad he killed the damn thing before he passed out, otherwise…”

Jaskier nodded. “Yeah. I'm sure the slow heartbeat didn’t hurt either. You know, with the bleeding out.”

Yennfer laughed. “Yeah, that too.” She paused. “I have to go, Jaskier, but I promise I’ll keep you updated on how he’s doing.”

“Thank you. And if you need anything, Yennefer, food, moral support, I’ll help in any way I can.”

“Thanks. I’ll talk to you later.” The line clicked and Jaskier pulled the phone from his ear and stared at it. The annoyance in his chest had disintegrated and was replaced with a deep fear, his hands shaking as he put his phone down. He checked the time, wandering towards his bedroom. 

“2 AM, darling,” he said, spotting Mariah on the couch. “It’s past your bedtime.” He scooped her up, cradling her against his chest. She chirped and looked up at him, headbutting his hand as he scratched her ears. He sighed. “Geralt’s okay. He’ll be over soon, sweetheart, I promise. I hope, at least.” 

If Mariah knew Jaskier was reassuring himself more than her, she said nothing.

___

Geralt woke in a cold sweat with a relentless ache in his bones. He opened his eyes, blinking and adjusting to the sunlight streaming in through the windows. He was lying in a bed he recognized as his own, and he looked around as best as he could from a horizontal position. He was shirtless, his chest and arm wrapped in bandages and he flexed his fingers, feeling the stitches shift up the length of his arm. He caught sight of someone across the room from him and leaned his head up to see that Yennefer was asleep in what looked like an incredibly uncomfortable position, her head leaning on her hand, her elbow on her knee, which was curled into her chest. From his position on the bed, he could see the dark circles under her eyes and he could almost  _ feel  _ her exhaustion. He leaned on his good arm, attempting to push himself to a sitting position. He overestimated his strength, however, and he yelped as his elbow buckled and he crashed his skull against the headboard. Yennefer sat straight up, her eyes wide and wild, and stared at Geralt. He could see tears well up in the corners of her eyes and she smiled. 

“Hey, Yen.” he mumbled. His throat was dry and his voice cracked a bit. She crossed the room in three strides, falling to the floor next to him and wrapping her arms around his neck. Geralt felt her tears wet his shoulder and he brought his good arm around to hold her, breathing in the lingering scent of lilac and gooseberries on her skin. She pulled away, holding his face in her hands. 

“Don’t you dare think of doing that ever again, Geralt. I swear to everything good if some monster doesn’t kill you, I will.” she scolded, but there was no malice behind the words. “And if I don’t, your Jaskier will.”

Geralt huffed. “He’s not  _ mine _ . And you would kill me before he did.”

“Maybe so.” Yennefer released his face, instead helping him sit up against the headboard. “I did my best stitching you up, literally and figuratively. You’ll have scars, but what’s a few more to add to the collection, right?”

Geralt hummed and closed his eyes, leaning his head back against the wood behind him. “Yen,”  he asked. “How long have I-”

“Three days.”

His eyes shot open and he looked down at her, squinting, incredulous. “Sorry, three days?”

She nodded. He opened his mouth to speak and she raised a hand to silence him. “Don’t worry about your bag and your bike, they’re here and they’re fine. Your trophy’s here too; I figured you probably wouldn’t have gotten paid without it. You’re just lucky no wandering animal happened upon you before I got to you.” 

“Have you been here for three days? Have you slept at all?”

“I think, Geralt, that you should be thanking me for saving your sorry ass from your suicide mission.”

“Thank you, Yen. From the bottom of my heart.”

She scoffed. “Yeah, alright.” She leaned forward and kissed his cheek. “I’m just glad you’re alive. Speaking of the bottom of your heart, you should call Jaskier. Not necessarily right now,” she added quickly, seeing Geralt’s eyes go wide. “I know you don’t want him to see you like this. Just… don’t leave him hanging. He’s been bothering me for updates since I told him you almost got yourself killed-”

“You  _ told  _ him?” Geralt growled, balling his fists subconsciously. Jaskier would be tearing himself up with worry, and-

“ _ God _ , Geralt, can you  _ calm down _ ? He cares about you, and I wanted someone,  _ anyone  _ else to know what was going on. He  _ cares _ , Geralt, more than you know.  _ Let him _ .” She paused, taking a breath. “Fortunately for you, there are people who actually care whether you live or die. Maybe it’d be a good plan to keep them around.”

The witcher rolled his eyes, but relented. He agreed to call Jaskier within the next 24 hours and Yennefer helped him out of bed, making double and triple sure he wasn’t going to pass out again, forcing him to eat and giving him magic-imbued creams to make sure his wounds would heal right. She left, telling him to call if he needs anything, and to take it easy while she wasn’t there to help. 

Geralt checked on the apartment, making sure everything was in order. When he was satisfied, he made his way back to his bedroom and went back to bed, exhausted from the few hours he’d spent up and about. He promised himself he’d call Jaskier the next morning and was asleep in minutes. 

___

At 10 AM the next morning, Geralt called Jaskier. The phone ring only once before it was picked up. 

“Geralt? Oh my god, is that you?” Jaskier exclaimed, relief radiating from his words.

“It’s my phone, isn’t it?”

“Don’t sass me, Geralt, holy shit. You had me terrified, you know that?”

Geralt took a breath. “Look, Jaskier, I’m sorry if-”

“No.” Jaskier interrupted. “No, we are not doing this over the phone. Send me your address. I’m coming over to verbally beat the shit out of you.” The line clicked and Jaskier hung up. Geralt pulled the phone from his ear, blinking down at it. He sighed and sent the man his address, knowing it would only be more harsh if he prolonged it. 

Within 15 minutes, Jaskier arrived at Geralt’s front door. He opened the door before Jaskier was able to knock, staring down at him apologetically. Jaskier met his gaze and they just stared at each other, both waiting for the other to start. Geralt cleared his throat and moved to the side, gesturing for the man to come in out of the hallway. He closed the door behind Jaskier and watched him take a deep breath. 

“First of all,” he started. “I’m glad you’re alive.”

“Thanks.”

“Second of all, what the fuck is wrong with you?”

“I-” Geralt started, trying to defend himself. 

“No, no, listen. I really am trying to be courteous, because you almost  _ died _ , Geralt, do you know how terrifying that phone call was? I’m tryin to put myself in your shoes, what might’ve possessed you to go on that dangerous of a contract alone and without telling anyone-”

“I told you and Yen! It’s not like I disappeared-”

“You didn’t tell us what it was for! You gave neither of us any information on what kind of contract or how dangerous it could be!”

“Do you think I can’t handle myself?” Geralt snapped, his control flying out the window. He didn’t like being accused of anything, let alone being weak.

“ _ No _ ! That’s not what I said and you know it. You just- Geralt, you have no self-preservation. You don’t care if you die on a contract-”

“That’s not true.”

“You’ve  _ accepted  _ the idea that someday you will die and it won’t be of natural causes.” Jaskier’s face was red, tears threatening to spill past his water line. “You’re reckless.”

“Not true.”

“It is.” He stepped closer, getting in Geralt's face. “You’re too  _ reckless _ , Geralt, there was absolutely  _ no reason  _ to do this on your own. You  _ knew  _ there was a chance it might be too much. Why didn’t you fucking call  _ Yennefer _ ? Or  _ me _ ? Or, god forbid, put your  _ own  _ well being ahead of  _ anything else _ in your brain?”

Geralt mimicked his step, crowding into Jaskier’s personal space. “I called Yen for a portal! This is my  _ job _ , Jaskier! This is what I was  _ made _ .  _ To _ .  _ Do _ . That’s not an exaggeration. I was  _ made  _ to fight and kill monsters, and I was  _ made  _ to get hurt.”

“ _ That doesn’t mean it’s the only thing you were meant for _ !”

Geralt fell silent. Both men were out of breath and fuming, their faces inches from each other. There were tears on Jaskier’s cheeks and Geralt wanted so badly to reach up and wipe them away. Jaskier was breathing hard, his chest visibly rising and falling with the effort. They stood in silence, staring at each other, before Jaskier moved with lightning speed and grabbed the front of Geralt’s shirt, yanking him closer. The witcher assumed the man would punch him, and he wouldn’t deny it’s what he deserved. He closed his eyes and braced himself for the impact, but it never came. What did come was Jaskier’s lips on his, hard and demanding.

Geralt’s mind went blank. His eyes snapped open and Jaskier shoved him back, wiping his tears on his sleeve. He refused to meet Geralt’s eyes, opting to apologize profusely with what could only be described as word vomit. Geralt’s mouth fell open and he stared at the man, heat rising in his cheeks.

Time slowed, and all the witcher could see was scene after scene of the two of them together, replaying over and over in his mind. The two of them laughing, sharing drinks, watching bad television, playing with Mariah. Falling asleep next to him on his shitty couch in his shitty apartment. Letting Jaskier touch him whenever he wanted, never refusing or threatening him aside from the occasional grunt. Letting himself be dragged into Jaskier’s own bed, falling asleep curled up into him and getting the best sleep he’d had in years. Making jokes and comments, hoping to hear Jaskier’s laugh, whatever it took. Not being able to get that night they had spent together out of his head for  _ days _ . Jaskier had opened the floodgates and there was no stopping it now. Hundreds of different single moments flashed in front of Geralt’s eyes. He felt sick and his head was reeling. 

Oh,  _ fuck _ .

He heard Jaskier’s voice from far away, still apologizing and at his door, trying to leave. He snapped himself out of his slideshow of memories and straightened up.

“Jaskier, wait.” He started walking slowly towards the man. A bitter scent hit Geralt’s nose, a terrible, sickly smell that resonated deep in his bones. His breath hitched when he realized what it was: fear.

Jaskier was terrified. Of what Geralt would do to him, of getting hit, of crossing a line. It was horrible. It set off something deep inside him, and that something would do anything to never,  _ ever  _ smell it again.

“What the fuck are you doing.”

Geralt reached Jaskier and grabbed his hand, holding it so he could pull away if he wanted to. He placed his other hand on the man’s face, searching his eyes for permission. Finding no resistance in them, Geralt leaned in and pressed his own lips gently against Jaskier’s. It was nothing like how he had ever kissed anyone before; he was used to kissing as a precursor to fucking, by people who wanted his body and not him. This was soft, tender. This was Geralt trying to convey everything he’d ever felt for Jaskier in one kiss. He felt like crying. 

Jaskier finally reciprocated, balling his fists into Geralt’s shirt and pulling him as close as possible, tripping him in the process and accidentally making the witcher pin him against the door. Geralt threw up an arm on instinct to stop from slamming into it, but seemed to forget he was hurt. The movement made him gasp and Jaskier took advantage, licking into his mouth and drinking him in. He very easily switched their positions, forcing Geralt back against the door and sliding his hands up under his shirt. The witcher’s hands went to his waist, pulling their hips flush. Jaskier very suddenly pulled back, breathing hard.

“Hang on.” he said, looking up at Geralt (who was equally out of breath). “What about Yennefer?”

Geralt cocked his head. “What about her?”

“Aren’t you two… together?” Geralt blinked at him, then snorted. Jaskier pouted. “Don’t laugh at me, asshole.”

“Yen’s gay, Jaskier.”

Jaskier blushed. “Oh.”

“Yeah, oh.” They stood in silence for a moment. Geralt broke it first, his voice coming out low and gruff. “Please kiss me again, for the love of god.”

Jaskier didn’t need to be asked twice. He grinned, wrapping his arms around Geralt’s neck, his hand trailing up into his hair and pulling lightly. Geralt’s growled and wrapped his arms around Jaskier’s waist, pulling him impossibly closer and drowning in his scent. The smell of lavender and wood polish filled his senses, a shiver running down his back. Jaskier moved a hand back down to his chest, pushing him back hard into the door. Geralt winced and pulled back. Jaskier removed his hand, looking apologetic.

“Sorry, I-”

“It’s fine, Jas-”

“If you want to stop-”

“No, no, I don’t want to stop, Jas, I never want to stop. I forgot about  _ this _ .” He motioned to his chest. “Can we… I think that my chest needs me to be horizontal right now.”

Jaskier nodded, blushing. “Couch?”

“Yeah.” 

Jaskier nearly dragged Geralt to the couch. They tumbled down, Jaskier falling on top of the witcher. Geralt smiled, running a hand through the other man’s hair. Jaskier straddled his hips, leaning down and kissing him. Geralt hummed against his lips. Jaskier moved from his mouth, kissing down his jaw and nipping at his neck.

“Jaskier, you realize we will have to talk about this at some point.”

He just hummed against Geralt’s neck, biting down and sucking a mark above his collarbone. Geralt groaned, pulling him back up and crashing their lips together again. 

Geralt was on fire. He was fully and entirely on fire and his home was burning down around him. Jaskier’s hair in his hands was cold and soft and his body above him was heavy and commanding. Everywhere Jaskier touched him, his skin burned: his neck, his chest, his face, his lips. The man nipped at his lip, rolling his hips against Geralt’s, who gasped and moaned into his mouth. If they kept going like this, Geralt would burn down to bones and die right there on his living room couch. He grabbed Jaskier’s face, taking control back and slowing the kiss back down. Jaskier whined, but pulled back an inch to rest their foreheads together. He closed his eyes and breathed hard, almost wheezing.

“Worked yourself up too much there?” Geralt asked.

“Shut up,” he replied. “What do you… I feel like, hear me out, fucking is a bad idea.” 

Geralt nodded. “Agreed.”

“So, what do you want to… What are you willing to do?”

The witcher felt heat rise in his cheeks. “You have more experience in this department than I do.”

“Well, yeah, obviously. However,” he sat up and back on Geralt’s thighs. “You, dear witcher, are still quite injured. I would rather we not start something you can’t finish. Don’t want to get you too worked up and rip your stitches.”

“We can just kiss, then. Anything you do is going to get me worked up.” Geralt replied, squeezing Jaskier’s hips.

Jaskier flushed to the tips of his ears. He stammered an incoherent response. Geralt just laughed and dragged the man down, kissing him long and sweet, savoring every part of him. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry this is so long !!! and very geralt-centric, next chapter will be more jaskier-centric probably!!!  
> im planning one more chapter, then some side stories ill post as separate fics ! thank you all so so much for reading, it means the world to me !  
> if anyone wants to draw anything for this please do not hesitate to and tag me in it because i will sing your praises from the rooftops <33
> 
> i made playlists for jaskier and geralt and yen, if you would like the link then leave me a comment !

**Author's Note:**

> thank u for reading ! and thank you to sad silk trader fan club for encouraging this !
> 
> tumblr: dxveyjacobs  
> twitter: finns_dead
> 
> daryshkart's post: https://daryshkart.tumblr.com/post/190464989759/jaskier-and-geralt-modern-au-kinda-magical


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